


Fly Away Love

by MagicalStranger13



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2018-09-03 05:15:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8698471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicalStranger13/pseuds/MagicalStranger13
Summary: When the spell is broken and Roland finds himself disgraced, and worse, all alone, what life-altering realizations will await him?  And what will he do about them?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gleefullymacabre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gleefullymacabre/gifts), [GoodFae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodFae/gifts), [abutterflyobsession](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abutterflyobsession/gifts).



> This was bugging me all day (no pun intended). And since I don't know when I'll get around to writing the rest of it, I thought I'd just post the prologue and finish it when I can.

Somewhere deep in the Dark Forest, there was a special tree whose leaves were that enchanting and free-spirited flowering plant called wisteria.  The fragrant hanging petals were in full, luscious bloom in the late summer, and they formed a thick canopy above the cradle of the braches; a bower fit for a goddess. 

But it was today that this heavenly retreat of powder blue and lavender was invaded by a splash of mauve.  The color belonged to a female fly who zipped in clumsy, frantic circles around the tree, as if searching for something.  Her front-most legs rubbed anxiously against each other and though it was muted, she was buzzing to herself in a way that closely resembled a series of despairing whimpers.    

“HI THERE!”  An enthusiastic voice greeted suddenly, making the nervous fly squeak in surprise.  “Looking for me?”

Out from a tight cluster of blossoms, drifted the glowing and ethereal form of the Sugar Plum Fairy.  Her mouth was open to jabber on as she usually did with anyone she ran into lately about the weather, the surroundings, or her favorite: the sweet glory of freedom, but one glimpse of her visitor’s agitated state dried up any desire to shoot the breeze. 

Something was wrong. 

“What can I do for _you_ , dear?”  She asked gently and _totally_ unprepared for the panicked series of noises that spewed forth from the fly.

“BZZBZZMZZZZZZZZZDZZZZZZZPZZTZZZTZZFZZZZZZBZZZZMZZ-!”

“Whoa, whoa!  Slow down, honey!”  Plum cried.  “My insectese is a little rusty!  _What_ did you say again?”

Her guest seemed to take a moment to breathe and gather her wits before repeating herself in a calmer, but still shaky manner:

“Bzz-bzz mzz, zzzzz-zz dzzz.  Zzzzz, pzz tzzz-tzz fzzzz-zzz.  Bzz-zz mzzzzz tzz-dzzzz _pzzzz_ z-z-z.  Ztz wzzer zz-zerdzz.”

“Oh?  I see....and who _is_ your boyfriend?”

“Rzz-zzer.  Zzz-zz dz-zzzz fzz-z zz-dzer.”

“Huh, where have I heard that name befo-?  Aaaaah, _now_ I remember!  ......Erm, well he’s...good looking, I’ll give you that.  So, what _exactly_ is the problem?”

“...”

“Mm?”

“...”

“Come on, sweetie.  I know you must’ve come here for a reason, but I can’t help you unless you tell me what it is.”

“......Bz...zzuzz zzz...fz-rzzz.”

“ _Really_?”  Plum blinked in shock.  "You _do_?”

The fly nodded and made a pitiful noise like a sniffle.

“My, my......and I’m going to assume you...haven’t told him yet?”

“Zzur...  Bz wzz tzu bzz-zzz zzpzz.  Tztz dzu zzdzztzz zzt dzu?”

“Why yes, of _course_ I understand, miss-!  Uh, miss...?”

“Zzzerzer.”

“Sierra?  That’s a very lovely name!  Anyway, I _do_ understand, honey...but......are you absolutely _sure_ about this?  From what I saw, and _definitely_ what I heard later on, he was...quite the troublemaker beforehand.”

The fly appeared to hesitate for a few tense seconds, but ultimately, she broke down into heartbreaking sobs. 

“Zer, Bz tzur.  Bz _zzuzz_ zzz.  Pzzer zzzer mz!”

“You poor, poor darling!  There, there!”  Sugar Plum comforted, wrapping her arms around the trembling bug.  “It’s always so hard to do the right thing.  Okay then, listen carefully.  Here’s what you need to do...” 


	2. Chapter 2

There were some days when the Fairy Kingdom truly shined. 

The majestic beauty of its bright, open landscape could arrest your attention and awe with its lush carpets of soft, healthy grass and numerous, vivid blossoms.  Every creature, from the smallest of insects on the fertile ground, to the largest of birds that soared through the perfumed air, knew this was a special place; a magical place. Sheltered from storm and strife by the mighty oak trees, it was a haven brimming with happiness and song. 

And nowhere was this more apparent on such a fine summer afternoon, than on a tiny bank nestled snuggly at the south end of the kingdom by the winding creek and the border to the Dark Forest. 

On said bank, a mere stone’s throw away from the water’s edge, a stump of a once mighty pecan tree sat slightly lopsided on a ridge, and tucked into its exposed roots, was a quaint and tidy cottage.  Its walls were a fetching shade of cream, with white trim on the window frames, the front door was painted a rich emerald green, and gleaming mahogany shingles covered the roof. 

But the charm certainly didn’t stop at the house!

Up on the ridge, nearly every inch of the property was covered with the most perfectly groomed of flora.  Dozens upon dozens of fragrant and stunning lavender, fox glove, lilies, asters, zinnias, sage, and peonies towered over the cottage, and there wasn’t a single brown spot or limp petal among them. 

And beneath the radiant blooms, to the far left of the stump, were several healthy garden patches.  Ripe for the picking, there were tomatoes, peppers, okra, basil, rhubarb, honeydew melons, and strawberries, almost too many to count! 

At the patch closest to the river, a squirrel was sniffing hungrily at the two large, full baskets of blueberries strapped to his sides.  Behind him, he dragged with his tail what remained of the bush from which his load had come, to a fire pit, safely away from the other crops.

Where the bush had once stood, an uncommonly handsome fairy male was humming a tune and tilling the soil for new growth, and though he was diligent in his task, his mind was stuck on another subject entirely, one that made him quite giddy; enough to sing, in fact.

 _Every day the sun comes up around her~_  
_She can make the birds sing harmony~_  
_Every drop of rain is glad it found her~_  
_Heaven must have made her just for me~_  
_When she smiles so warm and tender~_  
_A sight for sore eyes to see~_

Despite the summer sun beating down mercilessly on his curly blonde head, he was full of unyielding energy, and even succumbed to the impulse to dance around in the miniature field, using his hoe as a microphone. 

 _Oooh, ain't no woman like the one I've got~_  
_Oh no, they don't come better~_  
_To make her happy doesn't take a lot~_  
_She don't ask for things, no diamond rings~_  
_So together, like a hand in glove~_  
_Like pages in a letter~_  
_Ain't no woman like the one I love~_

Momentarily finished with his labor, the fairy propped his tool against the fence and grinned at the curiously watching squirrel.

“What a gorgeous day!  Huh, boy?”  Roland asked, approaching his pet, Chipper, as he wiped the sweat from his neck with a rag from his back pocket.  “It’s like the whole world’s as happy as I am!  Yes, it is!  Oh yes, it is!” 

He scratched the animal’s ears and chin, reducing it to a trilling ball of joy, kicking its hind leg out and nuzzling its master’s laughing chest.  Eventually, Roland led Chipper towards the cottage to deposit the baskets in the attached storage shed, where they would remain until the day after tomorrow, when they took their seasonal trip to the market.  

Only once Roland locked the double doors, did his mood appear to dip, and he sighed heavily to himself.

“I just wish Sierra would come home already.”  

She’d only been gone a few hours, but any time Roland spent away from his darling rosebud felt like years. 

With the Dark Forest being her original home, regular trips back to visit family and friends were a pretty common occurrence for Sierra.  Unfortunately, it was the one place Roland couldn’t tag along.  He wasn’t allowed to set so much as a _toe_ over the border.  The king and queen explicitly _forbid_ it, under penalty of life-long imprisonment…or _worse_.  

Well, he couldn’t blame them.  He _had_ acted like a complete jackass.  It seemed so strange, thinking back on it now.  Marianne was a great girl and all, but he couldn’t believe he’d made such a fuss over her.  It was kind of embarrassing. 

_But I was just lookin' for my Sierra.  In all the others, I was lookin' for her, and I didn’t even know it!_

He was _so_ thankful Marianne had punched him off that cliff!It was like she’d _literally_ knocked some sense into him, and when he’d opened his eyes, there she was: his dear Sierra; checking his scalp for injuries from his fall, such a kind soul!  

It was at that very moment, it felt as if his whole life had begun anew.  Suddenly, nothing else in existence mattered but her.  She was his everything; the reason the world went ‘round, and it was his mission to be with her, protect her, and fill her days with more bliss and laughter than one could possibly imagine.

**He _loved_ her, and _nobody_ else.**

What had he been chasing after?  The crown?  Ha!  What a selfish waste!  How could a kingdom or an army ever compare to _this_ way of life?

Not many people knew it, but Roland had been _born_ on a farm.  His family were actually direct descendants of the first group of fairies to act as ambassadors to the elves, and nurture their newfound alliance back when the races had originally discovered each other, all those centuries ago. 

He didn’t remember his father, Lance, since the man had died when Roland was barely two years old, but according to his mother and any other few friends and relatives he’d met, he was the near spitting image.  Same smooth, clear skin, same wings, same build, same dashing face and shiny, golden locks.  The only difference had been the eyes and _style_ of the hair. 

Whereas his father had chocolate brown orbs and straight hair, Roland’s green eyes and signature flouncy curls, where all from his mother, June. 

Now, _there_ was one wonderful lady!  Second only to Sierra, of course.  June was every bit as cheerful and warm as her namesake, with wild, rose-red hair, slim wings of pale blue, and irises as green as her thumb.  It seemed like whatever patch of earth she opted to touch, she could make flourish without fail.  Farm work was hard, but somehow, June could make any chore an absolute romp!  She taught her son everything he knew, not just about agriculture, but also singing, dancing, and playing the guitar.      

In many ways, Sierra reminded him of his mother.  Though she might be a little awkward and shy at times, at her core, she was one upbeat, patient, talented, and _very_ smart person.  He couldn’t have asked for (nor would he have accepted) a better partner to spend his life-long exile with.    

Oh, yeah.  He’d gotten his ass _handed_ to him for all the trouble he’d caused.  A sock in the jaw, a dishonorable discharge, _three_ counts of banishment; he had no idea king Dagda’s face could get so _purple_!  Honestly, it had been kinda scary and confusing, at first, but with Sierra by his side, he was willing to brave anything. 

So, long story short, he got booted from the army and his home, sentenced to live in the cottage on the far outskirts of the Fairy Kingdom, only permitted to come to the Elf Village for market, or it was the stony lonesome for him.      

Well, that was just fine with Roland!  He liked it out here, but what made it paradise was all Sierra.  It was so nice of her to give up her life in the Dark Forest to come live with him on their farm.  She was such a wonderful helper, and had even taught him a few cultivating tricks of her own using goblin, eh… _fertilizer_.  Ah, so what if it was a bit smelly and messy?  He’d never had crops so tasty or _large_ before, a valuable trait, according to Sierra.  Where she came from, the larger your food, the longer it lasted, and the longer it lasted, the longer you ate. 

That was definitely something their elf and fairy customers greatly appreciated, and even if Roland knew they didn’t care much for _him_ , they all seemed to agree that Sierra was incredibly sweet.  When they’d make their purchases, they would often spend hours hanging around the booth chatting with her, even if it was mostly via pencil and paper, on Sierra’s end; not many in the Fairy Kingdom could understand her language.  Heck, he still wasn’t fluent even after having her as a private tutor for over a year.  Nevertheless, thanks to her, come market day, their spirits were always high, and their wallets plenty fat, so they could live about as comfortably as they pleased.     

She was his little miracle.  Without her, he would be _lost_ …

An hour and a half later, with his heart full of song and his face full of love-struck grins, he’d managed to pick and store everything but the basil and rhubarb, opting to let those wait until tomorrow, but as he wrapped up plowing the last empty field, he was startled by Chipper nudging his shoulder.  Glancing at the animal, he noticed it was shaking with excitement and staring intently at the northern edge of the property. 

A lone figure was slowly making their way along the bank towards the cottage, and it only took a beat before a dazzling beam spread across Roland’s cheeks as he recognized his lady love!

“Hey!  _There_ ya are!”  He exclaimed, hopping over the fence and sprinting to meet her, Chipper right on his heels.

Sierra stilled at the sound of his voice, and kept her eyes trained on the ground.  One of her legs glumly poked at a dirt clod.  

“Oh, c’mere!”  Roland playfully growled, gathering her into his strong arms for a tight hug.  “Welcome home, rosebud!  Did ya have a good time in the Dark Forest?”

She nodded, but made no further comment, so he just kissed her temple. 

“I’m almost done harvestin', an’ everythin' looks fantastic!  We oughta make a _killin’_ at the market _this_ season!” 

When all Sierra uttered in reply was a quiet, neutral hum instead of her usual enthusiasm, Roland’s brow furrowed, beginning to sense something was amiss.

“Sierra?  Are ya okay, baby?”

She appeared to perk up ever so slightly at his question, but only in posture.  The tone of her soft, affirming buzz remained low and detached. 

“Do ya want somethin’ to eat?”  Roland offered.  “I could make us some stew, if you’re hungry.”

Sierra shook her head, still not meeting his eyes.

“No?  Aw, you’re probably jus' real tired, aren’t ya?”  He murmured as he stroked her head in sympathy.  “My poor darlin’, ya went a long way today.  I keep tellin’ ya, sweetheart, you’re welcome to take Chipper with ya anytime.  He’d make your trips a lot faster…and _safer_.  Ya always tell me how dangerous it can be when you’re on your own in there.” 

Chipper flicked his tail and squeaked as if in agreement, and though Sierra patted the squirrel’s twitching nose, she said nothing else.   

“Well…anyway,” Roland continued, gently guiding his love towards the cottage, “let’s get ya inside so ya can take a nap, huh?  And don’t ya worry, I’ll have dinner ready when ya wake up.”

* * *

Sierra didn’t resist as Roland led her into their cozy dwelling.  It was a charming home: spotless wood floors, her various flora and fauna portraits on the walls, polished furniture with plush cushions, white lace curtains, and almost every table had a vase of tiny flowers in its center.

She didn’t carefully slip from his grasp until her own door was in sight.  Separate bedrooms were a _must_ she’d insisted upon before moving in with him, and though at the time, Roland had pouted in that adorable way only _he_ could, he agreed and had followed the rule perfectly ever since. 

Unfortunately, he’d caught her just before she could cross the threshold, so he could plant a quick kiss to her mouth. 

“Sleep well, rosebud.”

As Roland retreated to the den, Sierra shut the door and leaned her small body against the frame.  It was all she could do to keep from collapsing to the floor.  These few moments of respite were just that, _moments_.  The Sugar Plum Fairy’s instructions had been very clear.  No matter how much it was tearing her apart, she had a job to do, and the sooner she did it, the…the…

…the better off everyone would be. 

Sucking in a deep breath in a sorry attempt to steady her nerves, she got to work straightening up her room.  She was already somewhat of a neat-freak, so the process took merely a minute or two.  Soon, all she had to do was tie up her personal items in a handkerchief: a single scrub brush and a lotion bottle, made special for her chitinous form.  If only her claws would just stop trembling!     

She was so on edge, she nearly upset her whole bundle when she heard the gentle twang of Roland’s guitar, followed by his soothing voice drifting from the den…

_Hey girl, I want you to know~  
I'm gonna miss you so much if you go~_

Sierra gasped and her front tarsi flew to her cheeks in momentary panic.

Did he know?! 

_No…_

No, of course he didn’t.  He _couldn’t_!    

Fate was just torturing her.  

 _And hey girl, I tell you no lie~_  
_Something deep inside of me's going to die~_  
_If you say so long~_  
_If you say good-bye~_

Sierra felt the tears stream down her cheeks.  He always did this before she went to bed; sing her a romantic song as a lullaby.  For the past year, it had never once failed to give her a powerful sense of peace, and carry her into the world of wonderful dreams.   

But now…

It was just breaking her into a thousand pieces. 

 _Hey girl, this can't be true~_  
_How am I supposed to exist without you~_  
_And hey girl, now don't put me on~_  
_What's gonna happen to me when you're gone~_

For a few precious and terrible seconds, she considered the alternative.  What if she were selfish?  For just _once_ in her life?  She always did things for others, but what about for _herself_?  What harm would it do?  After all, he was a convicted criminal.  No one else wanted him this way, but _she_ did.  Why not?   

 _How will I live~_  
_How can I go on~_  
_Hey girl~_

…

Because.

She _really_  loved him.

His smile, his laugh, his scent, his stories, his… _everything_.

**She _loved_ him, and it was so _wrong_.**

She could never do that to him, or anyone.  To willfully keep someone in such a cage, it was _cruel_.  So, _no_.  She couldn’t stand this for even one more day.  Despite his _numerous_ transgressions, he was still a person, and therefore, he had a right to his freedom.  Whatever was left of it. 

Harshly wiping away the salty moisture on her face, Sierra seized her bundle and swiftly left her room, coming to a halt in the den.  With a lump in her throat and a painful squeeze in her chest, she beheld Roland sitting on the sofa, leisurely strumming the bridge to the song, for the last time.

She nearly fled when he looked in her direction and ceased playing with a surprised smile.

“Did ya change your mind about the stew?”  He asked, setting the guitar down and rising from his seat. 

Sierra couldn’t answer him as he crossed to stand in front of her, though she gulped when she saw him notice the bundle at her side.

“Goin’ out again?” He frowned in confusion.  “Ya just got back.”

Suddenly, the air grew thin and cold.  The sunlight filtering in through the windows, dimmed as if a cloud had passed overhead.  

Her time was up. 

Reaching out, Sierra picked up one of Roland’s hands.  Slowly and lightly, she scratched several words over his palm.  Since he lacked the _physical_ equipment to speak her language the way her kind could, she would use his extra sensitive fairy skin to communicate with him as he learned to better understand her.  It was an intimate, trusting gesture, and it helped him learn faster than by the silly pencil and paper routine.  

“Sure, rosebud.  Ya can tell me anything, ya know that.”  Roland said, once she finished her message.

Sierra paused, gazing at him in silence.  Even with the shadows in the room, his eyes were so bright. She adored their color: green.  Green was beautiful.  Green meant life. 

But now that she was aware of the depth of her feelings; now that she could truly _see_ them, she saw the faint tint of pink around the corners. So subtle, it could easily be mistaken for a trick of the light, but sadly, Sierra knew better.  His eyes were _tainted_ , and the emotion shining through them was _false_. 

With a crumbling heart, she reached up and brushed a stray curl into its proper place.  Her claw whispered a slow trail down his chiseled jaw before she finally drew away and wrote the words she had never said aloud, but he desperately needed to hear…

.

.

.

And she was gone before his knees hit the floor. 


	3. Chapter 3

Strange, how for all the unique beauty and serenity each season possessed, the transition from one to another was always when the world seemed the most off balance and ugly, as if they were four petty sisters attempting sabotage, resentful of time’s shift in attention between them. 

The stubborn summer heat was gradually fading, but had yet to blend seamlessly with the growing winds, so there were random, uncomfortable bursts of chilly air, strong enough for a wayward soul to catch their death in the early morn or twilight hours.  The battling temperatures pooled heavy clouds in the sky which all but swallowed the sun whole, and though the inevitable rain was light, it was a near constant, coating the earth in mist and mud.  The fiery colors of autumn had yet to bloom across the trees.

All was wet, wilting, and grey. 

Grey… 

So much _grey_.

It was astonishing what a few days neglect and an erratically shifting season could do to a once so picturesque setting.  Even in midday, the cozy bank was bathed in dreary shadows; the sand was like ash and without the glimmer of sunlight upon its surface, the river floated by like a ghost, impassive and cloudy.  The garden patches were afflicted with weeds; the basil and rhubarb were dead and dry.  Up on the ridge, the flowers were drooped and shedding their faded, limp petals.  Beneath the soaked, mossy stump, the little cottage might as well have been permeating the gloomy atmosphere itself.  Gone was its warm and charming ambiance, leaving behind nothing but a sense of cold, foreboding.  The windows were dark, the stoop filthy, and the walls were an unattractive collection of somber tones due to dirt, shadow, and moisture from the rain. 

The haze of grey on the world was not barred from the interior either.  A thin layer of dust covered every surface.  Not a single candle illuminated so much as a corner, and the silence was thicker than mud.  The closest thing to a sign of life was the cracked door to one of the bedrooms, allowing the feeblest sliver of what daylight there was to filter through the half-parted green curtains. 

The room belonged to Roland, and though he was present, he was as still and morose as every inch of his surroundings.  He was quite a pitiful sight: sitting on the floor, slumped awkwardly against the side of the bed with the blanket tangled around his legs.  His clothes were wrinkled and shabby from days of consecutive wear, suggesting that his current scent was none too pleasant either.  It was a mercy he hadn’t happened to look in a mirror lately; had he been in a better frame of mind, he would’ve had a conniption at the state of his beloved hair; the once immaculate and flouncy locks of the purest gold were now flat, oily, and the dull shade of bronze. 

What he wouldn’t give for a bottle of stiff whiskey; getting hammered would make this… _funk_ at least a _fraction_ more tolerable.  But no, that was another little stipulation of his banishment: absolutely _no_ alcohol.  Couldn’t run the risk of him doing something stupid again, so the very _last_ thing anyone wanted was for him to get his hands on some liquid courage. 

There was only one other time in his life that things had taken such a sudden and terrible shift. 

For all its wonders, nature could be a heartless bitch, sometimes.  How else could one explain its decision to take the world’s wisest and loveliest mother away from her only child? 

Pneumonia. 

Took less than a month.  So fast, a seven-year-old Roland was hardly able to keep up.  He remembered crying a lot, not understanding why she had left him all alone; no more hugs and kisses, no more games, no more songs, no more delicious treats, no more… _her_.   

Before he knew it, he’d been taken away from his cozy farm to live with the only relative able and willing to accommodate him. His father’s elder brother, Captain Roderick. 

Due to his being in the military, Roland’s encounters with his uncle had been few and far between before his mother’s death.  In fact, other than knowing he’d been partly named after him, the man was such a stranger that Roland had wondered several times, why his elf neighbors had not volunteered to adopt him instead; they were known for having large families.  He supposed his uncle must’ve used his status and the old ‘blood is thicker than water’ argument, so it was a done deal.  Roland’s few belongings were packed, his mother’s cottage and furnishings sold, and he was carted off from the outskirts of the Elf Village, to his new home, the Fairy City.     

It was quite a change, moving from his parents’ private and wide-open acres to Roderick’s confined living quarters above the crowded city’s most popular pub on the main road.  The buildings were hollowed out boulders rather than constructions of clay or wood, and everything was so clean and shiny.  His new room may have been the size of his old closet, but it had a fantastic view of the castle, so he couldn’t find it in him to complain.  He was in awe of this…new world around him.  The delicious scent of different restaurant foods to try, the perfectly manicured nature trails, the art museums, the fancy trinkets and clothes in the seemingly endless amount of shops, constant songs and laughter in the air; everywhere he looked, there was bustling activity!

His uncle mostly left him to his own devices, far too involved with his occupation and social circles to properly play the role of a parent.

Because of all this, Roland had been excited about the prospect of going to the academy.  Up until then, he’d been home-schooled, so the opportunity to be around children his own age on a daily basis would surely guarantee he’d make friends; something a lonely young boy was understandably desperate for.

Unfortunately, reality wasn’t so accommodating to his wishes.  His life of isolation made him terribly shy, and once word got out that he was the son of those ‘farmer fairies’, the challenge of socializing tripled.  Most fairies were crafters, vintners, or restaurateurs.  Things such as agriculture and livestock were traditionally the elves’ line of work.  So, Roland became even more of an outcast among his academy peers for his distinctly ‘unfairy-like’ interests. 

Now, one would think that perhaps he’d find companionship with elf children instead, but this was not to be either.  The poor boy was quick to discover that though the elf neighbors had been kind and friendly to his parents, quite a few of them were actually a tad offended that his family had chosen to take up _their_ cultural and expert trade for so many generations.  The response?  A petty sort of revenge by making sure their kids didn’t get _too_ close to the young fairy. 

In a matter of weeks after school had begun, Roland was absolutely _distraught_.  Motherless, friendless; completely alone.  His marks were bad, he barely ate, and slept even less.  He became quite sickly, but with his uncle’s busy schedule, there was no way for him to stay at home. 

One afternoon, Roland had come home in a particularly forlorn mood.  He’d been passed over for a game of kickball with his classmates, failed a math test, and had eaten his lunch all alone in the playground’s bushes, _again_.  It was no wonder that when Roderick, who’d been relieved of duty early that day and was waiting in the den, asked him how he was, the boy couldn’t answer.  Instead, he dropped his books and lunch pail, and started crying. 

Tearfully, he stomped his feet and wailed about how he hated the academy, how everybody ignored him like he was invisible, how he missed his mother, and just wanted to go back to the farm.

Once he’d vented all his troubles and calmed down, he’d winced, fully expecting his uncle to scold him for getting so emotional.  Roderick was a polished and stern captain in the royal army…

….but he was also cunning and charismatic.

His uncle had simply stared at him in silence for a minute, stroking his goatee, before smoothly announcing that he would ‘take care of it’ and that it was time for dinner.

The next morning, much to Roland’s surprise, Roderick hadn’t already left for the castle grounds.  He brushed off his nephew’s questions, swept him up into the saddle of his war squirrel, and headed straight for the academy. 

Roland would never forget the looks on his classmates, their parents, _and_ the instructors’ faces when he and his uncle entered the schoolyard.  The wide-open eyes and mouths, the awed, reverent silence that befell them all! 

It was then, that Roland made a life-changing realization: it was all because of Roderick! 

He was a suave, dashing military hero!  The epitome of the tall, dark, and handsome stereotype with his deep brown hair and bright hazel eyes!  Everybody loved him!  Oh, the fantastic stories his uncle would tell!  The way men would praise and yield to him!  The way women would swoon and sigh at him!  His popularity was _immense_!   

And from that point forward, Roland’s _own_ popularity soared.  People listened to him, they included him, they practically _worshiped_ him!  Just for being a blood relation to the esteemed Captain of the Guard.  The attention was overwhelming, not to mention, _addictive_.  Roland soaked in every last drop of it like a sponge, all the while, making sure to flawlessly model himself after his uncle. 

He became obsessed with personal hygiene and beautification.  He improved his manners and learned the art of embellishment and the silver tongue.  He worked out and aced his exams (totally _not_ by cheating) so he could join the military right after graduation, and with Roderick’s reputation and preference, Roland was able to rise through the ranks and replace his uncle before his twentieth year. 

Being in command was _awesome_!  He reveled in the power he had over the troops, the money he made, the followers he dazzled, the women that threw themselves at him!  What more could he ask for?

Turns out there was juuuuuust _one_ more thing.

Eventually, it occurred to him at a Spring Ball: technically, he wasn’t the _main_ figure in charge.  No, that title went to the recently widowed King Dagda.  Like a seed in fertile soil, Roland’s envy for the crown grew and grew.  If _he_ was the king, then he would have _everything_!  The whole Light Fields would be in the palm of his hand.  It was a more suitable position for him anyway.  He honestly had no taste for fighting and getting all sweaty from marching out in the sun, he’d much rather relax and strategize from the cool comfort of his luxurious castle, with servants bringing him food, wine, and precious jewels. 

But how could he make it happen?  He obviously wasn’t a prince, or even on the council.  What to do?

Well, some could say that the answer _literally_ fell into his lap.  He’d been sitting at a table, sipping punch and regaling a small group of ladies and his fellow soldiers with a story about the time he’d slayed a cottonmouth (conveniently, when there were no witnesses around).  All of the sudden, there was a squeak and a distinctly _female_ fairy body sprawled over his knees.  The mysterious and klutzy newcomer quickly stood up and straightened her dress, while repeatedly spewing apologies, but Roland hadn’t been listening; he’d been watching the reactions of his group.  They’d all instantly rose from their seats, bowed or curtsied, and called her…princess.

That was when Roland got a good look at her.  Oh, yeah!  Right!  Princess Marianne!  He knew her.  Kind of.  At least, he’d _seen_ her a handful of times from a distance.  It was understandable why he hadn’t immediately recognized her.  She’d always struck him as average; just not very impressive in any way at all outside of her title.  The boring brown hair and brown eyes combo would’ve been made up for by some feminine grace and finesse, traits she _obviously_ lacked.  Still, he supposed that her awkwardness and frantic regret for her clumsiness was……cute, in a way. 

And then he got an idea.  _She_ was the _heir_ to the _throne_!  Could he…? 

There was only one way to find out.

Putting on his best boyish grin, he took her gloved fingers in his own and made a sweeping bow.  With his free hand, he twirled a single lock of his golden curls (a variation of his uncle’s habit of smoothing the hair at his temples), told her there was no harm done, and _winked_!

It worked like magic.  Her face bloomed a bright, and _attractive_ shade of cherry red, and she giggled shyly.  Who would’ve thought, she had a cute _smile_ too?

Be that as it may, Roland was far more occupied at the fresh new path that had just opened up for him.  His brain was running a mile a _second_.  All he had to do was marry this misfit princess, and the crown would be _his_!  It’d be a _cinch_!  He could have any woman he wanted, and he _had_.  Romance was so simple, he could do it in his sleep!      

So, he asked her to dance, and the rest was history.  Well, in the _bad_ sense, at least.  Oh sure, it had been great for a while.  Marianne had hung on his every word and whim, the crown was at his fingertips, but then he’d gotten caught, and despite his best efforts of damage control, everything had gone to hell.

Until…

Roland released a heavy sigh and dragged a hand over his face.

.

.

.

He was so confused.  Part of him was disgusted, or at least, _thought_ he _should_ be disgusted for spending over a year being all lovey-dovey with…her, but….

…that was just it.  He’d spent over a _year_ with her.  The potion hadn’t erased his memories; it hadn’t changed the fact that he’d shared so much with her, and vice versa.  Like when he’d slipped and fallen on his butt in the river washing clothes, and when she’d gone to help him, he’d splashed her in play.  Or the time she’d gotten sick and he’d accidentally put too much pepper in the soup he’d made for her, so she’d sneezed eight times in a row and gotten _him_ sick as well.  And how could he forget the day Chipper got his head stuck in a fruit barrel and the two of them had spent hours making enough butter to put on his neck and pull him free?  He remembered it all.  The only difference now was the context.   

The fact that she didn’t look remotely like the kind of women he used to deem attractive seemed so…meaningless at this point.  She’d gone out of her way to take care of him, to support him, to keep him company.  He knew her like his own reflection.  _She_ knew all about _him_ , and she still _cared_.  Not since his mother, had anybody been so selflessly kind to him; she was his best friend. 

He’d lost his job, his home, his future.  Yet, _she’d_ been there.

And now she _wasn’t_.

He’d lost…

…her…

…too.

This was so messed up! 

He shouldn’t feel this way.  _Why_ did he feel this way?  He’d been under spell.  It had all been a _lie_!  He should be relieved, or maybe angry, but…no matter how deep he dug, he just couldn’t find those emotions anywhere in his being.  She’d never once taken advantage of him.  Every kiss, every hug, every nuzzle, every touch, every word!  _He’d_ been the instigator every single time.   _She’d_ been the one to set boundaries, to pull away, to refuse or deter him.  The blame was not on her, so no, he wasn’t mad.    

He was just plain _miserable_.  

Everything was wrong, wrong, _wrong_ ever since she’d left.  Inside and out, there was darkness and grey.  He lacked the strength and interest to eat or bathe, and he barely slept for being tortured by dreams of being abandoned.  The worst one was where he was locked in a black box, and he could hear voices coming from outside, familiar voices, yet no matter how much he pounded and screamed, no one rescued him. 

No dearly departed loving mother.

No showy but emotionally unavailable uncle.

No friends, if he could honestly even call them that.

And no _Sierra_.

Roland flinched and squirmed at the thought of her name, as if a giant, freezing fist had just squeezed his insides in a punishing grip.  His eyes burned and there was a horrible throb in his chest.  The combined afflictions weighed him down until he couldn’t sit up any longer.  Since standing or even attempting to crawl into the bed was out of the question, he instead slipped sideways and laid on the floor, curled in a ball.  Screwing his eyes shut, he wrapped the tangled blanket tight around his shoulders and tried to concentrate on something, _any_ thing, other than the aching pain and this dismal, suffocating grey haze of a world around him.   

* * *

He hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep, and he wasn’t sure how long he’d been out, but he gradually became aware of a funny sound.  It was a distant, frantic, and damn annoying scratchy sound.  Roland frowned and rolled over, trying to ignore it, but it only seemed to get louder and worse.  Persistent thumps began to join the scratching.

And then shuffling.

And then squeaks. 

Whiney squeaks.  

…

Squirrel squeaks.

!!!

“Oh, shit!  _Chipper_!”

Scrambling to his feet, Roland bolted through the cottage, out the front door, and around back to the small stable he’d dug into the dirt wall under the ridge.  For the sake of convenience, he’d built doors with the hinges _inside_ the frame, so Chipper could enter on his own, but he’d need someone to let him out, as well as _feed_ him.  He’d been raised by fairies since he was a pup, plus rigorously trained to only eat on command and stay close to Roland in order to protect him, so he couldn’t fend for himself on his own in the Light Fields. 

Throwing open the doors in a panic, Roland was met with the sight of a filthy, damp, shivering, and incredibly _foul_ -smelling Chipper.  

“Aw, buddy!”  Roland moaned in sympathy, not caring for the stench as he gently gripped the animal by the neck and led him out of the stable.  “I’m so _sorry_!  Come on, I’ll get you cleaned up!” 

The poor starving squirrel was quick to bound away from his master and to the bank the instant he saw the river, and while he plunged his mouth into the ice-cold water and drank his fill, Roland turned around and busied himself with sweeping the pen free of droppings and old straw.  Once that was done, he brought Chipper a big bag of acorns (his favorite) and let him feast as he went about putting fresh straw and water in the stable.

By the time he’d finished, and had hunted down the pelt brush, Chipper was fat and happy, washed, and comfortably stretched out on a pile of leaves.  Unable to resist a small smile of indulgence, Roland approached his steed and sat down next to him, raising the brush to Chipper’s shoulder. 

But before he could touch him, the squirrel caught sight of the utensil, and he quickly rose on his haunches, leaning out of reach.  He flicked his fluffy tail and chirruped inquisitively as he turned his head in every direction with a twitching nose and erect ears.  Roland’s stomach tightened as he instantly realized what Chipper was doing.

He was looking for _her_.  

With her tiny claws, she was a goddess at brushing.  Heck his scalp was already tingling with want of her talent for doing what he’d thought was impossible: making his hair look even more _perfect_!  She was gentle, deep, and thorough.  He knew it, and Chipper knew it, but she wasn’t here.    

_Dammit._

Roland shook his head.

“No, boy.”  He sighed, moving towards the animal again, but Chipper evaded him a second time, chattering in confusion.

“I said, _no_.  Mamma’s not here, okay?  Hold still.”

The squirrel did the exact opposite and leapt in the direction of the cottage, just as Roland advanced on him, nearly losing his balance and falling face-first into the dirt. 

“Chipper, knock it off.”  Roland growled as he followed him.  “She’s not _here_!”

Oblivious to the fairy’s meaning and growing frustration, Chipper pawed at the front door, carving small gouges into the paint and wood.

Damaging the house…

…the house he’d built for them…

…for _her_.

And that’s when Roland snapped.

“STOP IT, WILL YA?!”  He shouted, throwing the brush so it smacked hard against the door frame just above Chipper’s head, making the animal jerk and cower in alarm. 

Too enraged to think straight, he stomped towards his pet, unable to process its obvious sign of fear as he roared.

"SHE’S _GONE_ , YA UNDERSTAND?!  G-O-N-E, _GONE_!!!  AND SHE’S _NOT_ COMIN’-!”

It hit Roland like hail right then, and he began to tremble as all his fury dissolved to despair and he hung his head.

“…sh-she’s not…… she’s not comin’ back.”  He choked.  “I’m…I’m sorry, boy.”

Chipper stared at him for the longest moment, gradually seeming to finally comprehend the message.  In vain, he glanced around and sniffed the air several more times, before he uttered a pitiful whimper.  His ears and tailed drooped and he nudged Roland with his muzzle. 

The disgraced soldier embraced the squirrel in silence as they missed her together.  

* * *

Somehow, Roland managed to trudge back into the house an hour or so later after leaving Chipper napping in a tree.  He was too exhausted in body and spirit to bother with eating or washing, but he couldn’t face cooping himself up in his bedroom again; he might never come out.  Instead, he opted for the den, but he made sure to place his dusty guitar behind the sofa.  He just couldn’t stand even looking at it anymore.

He’d barely laid down and thrown an arm over his eyes for fifteen seconds before his heart seized up from probably the last thing he expected to hear right now.

There was a knock at the door.


	4. Chapter 4

Roland’s entire body shook and his hands turned ice cold as he stared at the green front door.  His mouth opened, but no sound came out other than the pathetic croak from the frog stubbornly lodged in his throat.  Excitement and terror were splashing and churning inside him like rapids and he wasn’t sure which was the right emotion to feel. 

Stronger than anything though, was his curiosity, and when the knock sounded again, he lurched off the couch and slowly made a shaky path up to the door.

Logical sense warred with traitorous hope at every step.

It couldn’t be.

Could it?

Who else would come?

But if it _was_ her… _why_?

Was she back to stay?

Should he _want_ her back to stay?

Or…

…was she only here to properly say goodbye?

Oh, he couldn’t _stand_ it!

Skin and ears tingling like bees, Roland stumbled onto the threshold in his sudden urgency.  The latch rattled as his fingers struggled to get a steady grip, and everything swelled to the top of his chest like bubbles in a champagne bottle as he threw open the door. 

“Sier-?”

“HEY!  WE’RE HERE!”

Despite the joyful chorus of a greeting, Roland’s innards crashed to the pit of his stomach and he nearly sagged against the frame.  It was only his old army buddies; the triplets: Tom, Dick, and Harry.

…No one else.

“Sorry we’re late, buddy!”  Tom said, brushing past the ex-soldier with his brothers, arms full of what seemed to be covered dishes. 

“Yeah, it’s so foggy out we had to walk,” Harry explained, “and the roads are pretty muddy from all these random showers!  But, we made it!”    

As the triplets deposited their food on the table, Roland impassively shut the door, obviously not in the mood to entertain, but lacking the fortitude to send them away.

He’d forgotten all about their planned visit; understandable, given the circumstances.  _They_ were the only company that ever came to call.  Technically, they weren’t _allowed_ to, but they already lived so close to the outer edge of the Fairy City, and with their soldier training, it wasn’t difficult for the three of them to slip away unnoticed every once in a while, when they didn’t have patrol or drills.  It was a mercy they didn’t receive more than a slap on the wrist for their aiding Roland in his schemes.  He hadn’t thought too much about it, but…he _was_ grateful that they hadn’t lost _their_ positions because of _him _.__

____

“Geez, Roland, you look like _crap_!  Are you sick or something?”

____

Roland glanced over at Dick, who had spoken so rudely, and bit back a huff.  That blue-eyed boy had always been aptly named, in his opinion.  His more courteous brother, Tom, peered at his reluctant host.   

____

“Is this why we missed ya at the market?”

____

“Should you be outta bed?”  Harry asked. 

____

“Ick!  You’re not _contagious_ , are you?!”

____

“Shut up, Dick-head.”  Roland grumbled, marching to the table and planting himself in his usual seat.  “I’m _not_ sick, _alright_?”

____

An awkward pause ensued as the triplets began to sense that something more crucial was amiss.

____

“…Say, where’s Sierra?  I brought our gramma’s potato soup for her like she asked.”  Tom said, tapping a ceramic bowl among the dishes. 

____

Roland paid the gesture no heed, for his mind had latched itself onto her name.  He’d thought it in his head over and over again so many times in the last few days, but to hear it fully spoken aloud was…was…

____

Too much.

____

A broken sigh escaped his lips and his face dropped into his palm.  Instantly, he was surrounded.

____

“Dude?”

____

“ _Roland_?  You okay?"

____

“Hey, what’s wrong?!”

____

_Really_ not wanting to discuss it, but knowing that if he _didn’t_ he’d surely break down in front of his three young, male guests, he choked out an explanation as quickly and concisely as he could.  By the time he’d finished, he was queasy and nearly crushed by the heavy silence.  They were all gawking at him as if he’d just admitted he was dying.

____

_Might as well be._

____

“Shit, Roland.”  Harry murmured once the story was through.  “We’re so sorry, man.”

____

Roland nodded as the green-eyed brother patted his shoulder in sympathy.  Harry was the most kindhearted of his siblings.  Coincidentally, he’d _also_ been the one the most on the fence about Roland’s royal aspirations.  Huh…go figure.

____

“Yeah, that…that really sucks.”  Tom said, and Dick grunted in agreement.

____

Humming vaguely in reply, Roland rose from his chair and took several wavering steps across the room; no idea where he was going.  He seemed to be without any direction whatsoever. 

____

What did it matter?

____

Why go when there was nothing…

____

…no _one_ to go _to_?

____

“Listen, what you need right now is a bath and some food.”  Harry finally announced, steering Roland towards the washroom.  “Why don’t you go get cleaned up, and we’ll set the food out and hang for a while, okay?  Trust me, you’ll feel better.”

____

If there’d been a knife to his neck, Roland couldn’t have summoned up the gumption to argue.  He watched lifelessly as Harry filled the tub with warm soapy water, and when he was left alone, it was a marvel that he managed to emerge from his impression of a pathetic marionette long enough to undress himself and soak.    

____

After a while, he had to admit, he _did_ feel better… _marginally_. 

____

Once finished and dried off, he drained the tub and wrapped himself in his silk, burgundy bathrobe.  He didn’t bother styling his hair, and deliberately avoided wiping off the condensation from the mirror lest he give into temptation.  Instead, he opted for a quick scalp rub with his towel, and tried not to think about frizzing. 

____

But just as he touched the doorknob to return to his company, he hesitated upon hearing the hushed voices of Tom and Harry talking in the den.  There were also clinking and rustling sounds coming from the direction of the kitchen.  Probably Dick rummaging around for extra snacks.

____

“ _I can’t believe she’s really gone._ ”

____

“ _Me neither.  I mean, she seemed so happy with him._ ”

____

“ _Well, yeah, but…it wasn’t_ real _!_ ”

____

A tremor slid down Roland’s spine.

____

“ _She must’ve figured it all out._ ”

____

“ _But didn’t she always know he was under a spell?_ ”

____

“ _I don’t think so; not right away, at least.  We talked to Roland in private, but it wasn’t exactly a secret with all the gossip at the market, you know?  But I meant she must’ve figured out all the_ other _stuff._ ” 

____

“ _You mean his…history?_ ”

____

“ _Come on, all that combined with his treason_ and _a love potion?  That’s too much for_ anyone _to deal with!_ ”

____

“... _I see your point._   _No wonder she left_.”

____

So much for feeling better.  Roland slumped against the vanity counter, but the conversation wasn’t over yet.

____

“ _I’m sure gonna miss her._ ”

____

“ _Me too.  She’s was a real sweetheart._ ”

____

“ _I can’t believe how nice she was to us after how we acted in the beginning_.”

____

“ _Yeah…even after all this time, I still feel guilty_.”

____

Roland remembered those days quite clearly… 

____

From almost the moment he’d met her, to immediately after his trial and banishment to this picturesque little bank, the triplets had been hounding him at every turn about how his feelings were insincere; the mere side effects of a love potion accident.  He’d ignored them, of course, spouting back the most flowery of sermons about his darling rosebud as he continued with the construction of their new cottage, but when they’d started saying things like there was no way he could love something so disgusting and hideous, he flew into a rage and nearly maimed all three of them with his hammer and saw.

____

It was Sierra who’d saved their lives and limbs that day.  Alarmed by the commotion, she came flying out of the garden and calmed Roland down by reminding him that he’d already lost so much, she couldn’t bear it if he lost what few friends he had left.

____

“ _But I don’t need them, rosebud_.”  He’d tried to insist.  “ _I love_ you _an'_ nobody _else_!”

____

What she’d ~~said~~ (wrote) next, he would never forget, especially now that he understood it better…

____

... _A heart......is like a good...house, Roland.  It...should..._ always...... _have room...for more_...

____

The gentlest puff of nostalgic laughter pushed past Roland’s lips.  He’d never realized just how wise it was of her to use that particular comparison, because only _she_ knew of his secret passion for architecture.  Had he not been so obsessed with popularity and status growing up, he would’ve chosen _that_ as his career over the military in a blink.  That was how he knew precisely where to strike the Bog King’s castle to make it crumble to dust.  He loved reading about building and design; be it stone, clay, dirt, or wood, it all fascinated him!

____

And, like it or not at this point, his exile was the first real opportunity he’d ever had to finally pursue his passion!

____

She knew how much it meant to him.  So, he’d relented and went back to his work on their spacious but cozy cottage, storage shed, garden fences, and squirrel barn, while she hurried to serve some delicious lemonade to the still cowering brothers.

____

The rest was history.  Stunned by her compassion and generosity, any further protest from the triplets was stifled.  They became somewhat regular guests, and the more they came, the longer they stayed, and the longer they stayed, the more comfortable and attached they grew towards Sierra.  It was almost as if they’d adopted her.  She certainly fed them like a second mother, and joked around with them like the sister they never had.  They even voluntarily learned a bit of her language, though they didn’t know half as many words as Roland did. 

____

Running a hand through his pitifully limp curls, Roland exited the washroom and made his way back to the main part of the house, ignoring how Tom and Harry hissed at each other to be quiet the instant he came into view.  They shuffled out of the den and followed him to the dining table.  A steaming bowl of the aforementioned gramma's potato soup was already placed in Roland’s preferred spot.  He still didn’t have much of an appetite, but he supposed he should make some sort of effort…to be polite.   

____

“Hey, Roland?”  Dick asked, poking his head out of the kitchen.  “Can I have these cookies I found in your pantry?” 

____

Roland shrugged and picked up his spoon.

____

“Sure, whatever.”

____

He ate a grand total of two and a half mouthfuls before giving up.  He was sure the soup tasted fantastic, but damned if he could find a single trace of flavor in his current state. 

____

Obstinate, he kept his vacant focus on the chunky broth before him, so we wouldn’t have to face the silent, watching eyes of his worried friends.  Eventually, Dick sauntered into the room, munching away on the cookies he’d found, and after several more long and wordless minutes, Harry spoke:

____

“Roland…we really are sorry.”

____

“We tried to tell ya, man.”  Dick insensitively added.

____

Tom elbowed his brother in the ribs.

____

“ _BUT_ ,” he emphasized, “…we never _ever_ wanted _this_ to happen.”

____

“I know.”  Roland whispered with a disparaging shake of his head.  “An' I know ya told me; told me I was love-dusted, an' that my feelin's weren’t genuine, but I just refused to listen.  Or I _couldn’t_ listen; I don’t think it makes a difference anymore, but……why did ya stop?”

____

“Huh?”

____

“Why…did ya guys stop trying to convince me?  Was it only because she was nice to ya that day?”

____

Somehow, Roland knew this was an odd question to ask, but he was too curious to leave in unanswered.  Her forgiveness and acceptance of the triplets or not, it had not changed the fact that their friend was still under a spell, yet they hadn’t brought it up to him since.

____

“Well, you _did_ chase us around the property with a hammer and saw, so...”  Dick joked, for once earning a ripple of chuckles from his brothers and a tiny smile from Roland, despite the rest of his expression remaining desperate for the truth. 

____

“I guess,” Tom explained as soon as he’d sobered, “…in all seriousness…now don’t take this the wrong way, Roland, but……I have to say…it was ‘cause…we sorta ended up……liking you better when you were with her.”

____

Roland looked up at that; the reason wasn’t shocking, more unexpected than anything else.

____

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, “like…you didn’t wanna be king anymore…”

____

“You’d stopped stealing all the chicks…”  Dick smirked.

____

“You even remembered our names!”

____

“What are ya talkin’ about, Tom?”  Roland frowned.  “I never forgot your names!”

____

“No, but you always got us mixed up, remember?”

____

_Oh…_

____

He was right.  He _did_ use to mix up their names.  All the time.  And whenever they corrected him, he just blew it off.  _She_ got him to pay more attention.

____

_...Look at......their eyes.  Listen to......their voices.  They...may...look...alike, but......they...have their own......identities...and personalities..._

____

Roland sank into his chair as shame rolled over him in giant waves.  So that was it; the conclusion he’d suspected, deep down, all along. 

____

“ _I’m_ the one who’s sorry, guys.”  He mumbled in a tentative voice that hadn’t known such misery since he was a child.  “This is all _my_ fault.  I’ve been a shitty friend an' an even _more_ shitty person.  _I_ put myself in this mess.”

____

Yet, the thought of taking it all back, including the part about the love potion, meant that he never would’ve known Sierra and experienced all the positive influences she had on his life.  And _that_ hurt more than he could ever hope to describe. 

____

Roland wrapped his arms around his middle, afraid that he was going to splinter apart.  There was an unbearable throb behind his ribs, his legs were jelly, and his eyes were stinging.  His instinct was to cry out.  To _her_.  But she wouldn’t come.  She couldn’t hear him.  She wasn’t there.

____

_She’s gone!_

____

The statements of encouragement and fraternity around him were drowned out by the thunder of his pulse, until Dick patted him rather forcefully on the back.

____

“Here, dude, have a cookie!  It’ll cheer you up!  They’re _unbelievable_!”

____

Roland’s impatient retort that he didn’t want any stupid cookies was cut off once his gaze fell on the baked confection in his friend’s hand.  He froze like a statue and his eyes widened in disbelief at the sandy brown color and craggily patterns, and his nostrils were filled by a long-missed aroma.

____

Pumpkin ginger cookies. 

____

Snatching the treat away, Roland gobbled it up in one bite, and nearly began to weep.

____

Not just _any_ pumpkin ginger cookies. 

____

_These…_

____

These were his _mother’s_ special recipe!  Nearly twenty years may have gone by, but there was _no_ mistaking their flavor.  Sugary, but not overly so, with just the _perfect_ amount of spice.  It was silly, but he’d always thought their taste was like a warm hug.  

____

“Wh-wh-?”  Roland stammered.  “Ya found _these_ in the pantry?”

____

Dick winced at him.

____

“Uh, yeah.  Why, were you saving them?  My bad.  The tin _did_ have a bow on it, but _you_ said I could have some!”

____

_A bow?_

____

_Sierra_ had made these for him?  She must’ve found his mother’s old cookbook at the bottom of his footlocker.  Heck, he’d forgotten _half_ the childhood stuff he still kept in there, himself.  But to bake them at _this_ time of the year?  And in _secret_ , no less?  They didn’t grow pumpkins in their garden, so finding and preparing the main ingredient at the market, and perhaps even the Dark Forest had to have been a _nightmare_ of a chore for her.  Not to mention the molasses, the butter, and the flour! 

____

_Yet she did it…_

____

_…all fer_ me _._

____

To keep the memory of his mother alive.

____

To make him happy.

____

Because she cared.

____

Because she-

____

!!!

____

“Roland?”

____

“Are you alright?”

____

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

____

Slowly, Roland stood to his feet and rested his knuckles on the table, keeping his head bowed.

____

“…Get out.”

____

“What?  _Why_?”  Tom demanded.

____

“Get _out_.”  Roland repeated, swiping the tin with the rest of the cookies out of Dick's grasp.  “I need to think.  I’ll…I’ll let ya know how I am later, but…right now, I wanna be alone.”

____

The triplets exchanged glances, unsure if this was the smartest course of action, but something in Roland’s steely demeanor told them it would be pointless to debate.  They sullenly rose from their seats, but were caught off guard by one last statement from their former captain…

____

“Thanks fer comin’ over, fellas.  I…I really appreciate it.”

____

“You’re…y-you’re welcome, Roland.”  Tom returned with a gentle grin.

____

“We’ll leave the food here.  Try to eat some more, okay?”

____

Roland replied to Harry’s suggestion with a simple nod, and Dick gave him a mock-salute as they slipped outside.

____

“See ya around, boss.”

____

When the front door closed and the last of their squelching footsteps through the mud faded from his hearing, Roland cradled the cookie tin in both hands and stared down inside at the contents.  He imagined all those fractured lines to be a twisty, confusing map, much like his lonely childhood and on into his self-centered adult years, but each and every trail led to the same destination:

____

_Sierra._

____

She _loved_ him. 

____

Genuinely. 

____

She _had_ to. 

____

Why else would she have gone to all that trouble making those damn cookies?  Why else would she have helped him as much as she had?  Why else would she have stayed for so long? 

____

.

____

.

____

.

____

Why else would she have _left_?

____

Was _that_ what had broken the love potion’s spell over him?

____

If so…

____

_What should I do?_

____


	5. Chapter 5

“Faster, boy!  _Faster_!”

Chipper leapt from branch to branch with a fresh burst of energy at his master’s hushed, but urgent command.  They were much higher up than they would normally be when traveling above the ground, so stability was a concern…

…but stealth was a greater one. 

They were well past the border, quickly approaching the heart of the Dark Forest.  To avoid being spotted by any scouts, Roland had directed Chipper straight to the trees.  Thankfully, though the leaves were browning, they had yet to begin falling en masse, so the two were provided with some extra cover as they moved.  How nerve-wracking it was, making one’s way through territory where the inhabitants had been specifically told to keep their sharp eyes and ears peeled for _you_! 

Roland shuddered and pulled the brown, ratty, hooded cloak he wore, tighter around his shoulders.  It used to be a blanket he’d cover the crops with on cold nights, now it was his best disguise option.  His quaking stomach was in knots from how crazy and dangerous he knew this plan was.  Had he any other choice, he would’ve taken it, but the near-constant drizzling lately had rendered Chipper’s scent tracking abilities utterly ineffectual, and Roland had never been to any other location in the Dark Forest other than the old castle, so he had a laughable sense of direction, at the moment.

But overtaking his anxiety, was his determination.  As he’d told Chipper at first light, not even an hour ago…

_“Come on, let’s go find her.”_

It had been three days since the triplets’ visit, and Roland had spent all that time as he’d said he needed to: thinking.  Thinking and eating those delicious cookies, and with each and every sweet bite, it seemed there was a brewing inside of him like a rising storm.  He couldn’t get his conclusion about why Sierra had left him out of his head.  It made him so restless, to the point where even trying to settle back into the routine of his regular chores provided no true distraction, and his sleep was plagued with increasingly blissful dreams, made all the more painful when he’d wake up alone over and over again.

Finally, (and coincidentally, the same day the cookies ran out) he just couldn’t stand it any longer.  Sure, she’d let him go, but she’d made like a thief in the night, because intentional or not, she’d taken something from him.  Something precious.  Something he now realized hadn’t been truly touched in _years_.      

So, he made a decision, and here they were.   

Maybe it was wrong.  Maybe it was foolish.  Maybe he should just go home and force himself to leave it be.  After all, no matter how you sliced it, false pretenses were still false, but…

 _I don’t care.  I-don’t-care-I-don’t-care-I-don’t-CARE!  I need her!  I_ want _her!_

He had no idea what he was going to say or do, but he had to see her, he just _had_ to!  It was tearing him apart!  To the point where he was willing to deliberately violate the terms of his exile; to risk life and limb, all for her! 

In a fleeting lapse of caution from his passionate resolve, he heeled Chipper in the flanks with a bit more force than necessary, sending the squirrel practically flying through the canopy.  It was only when a weak twig snapped that Roland regained his senses and pulled his steed to a crouched halt against the trunk of an elm.

Carefully peering down to the forest floor, he noticed a quartet of trolls gazing around in puzzlement for a few beats, before shrugging and continuing their task of gathering raspberries. 

Relieved, Roland scanned the area to get his bearings.  As luck would have it, he almost immediately spotted the castle not even a quarter of a mile off!  It was in the same vicinity as the previous structure, only instead of a rotting stump, the new fortress was carved into an impressive oak tree.  Large rocks had been piled at the southeastern facing side of the base, forming crooked steps all the way to a cavity just beneath where the thick branches sprouted.

“Steady, boy.”  Roland breathed, stirring Chipper into _slowly_ resuming their trek.  

When they were within a few yards, Roland steered the squirrel down into some tall, damp brush, and dismounted.  Thankfully, he’d had the good sense to ride bareback, so if Chipper happened to be spotted later on, he wouldn’t arouse suspicion by having an empty saddle. 

Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Roland reached into the collar of his cloak and fished out a hunter green scarf, knitted for him by Sierra herself.  To obscure his face, he worked the scarf up over his mouth and nose, then tugged the deep hood further down over his eyes.  His feet were clad in a pair of mud-caked galoshes, and he tucked the tails of the cloak into the shafts.  For the final and most important touch, he slightly flared and curled his covered wings inward, to give his hidden body a bulkier and distinctly _non_ -fairy shape. 

“Well, how do I look?”  He asked once his costume was ready. 

Chipper snorted at him and paced around the bush’s interior in agitation.  He was almost as impatient as his master. 

“Whoa, whoa.”  Roland murmured, lightly grabbing at the fur of the squirrel’s neck to still him.  “Easy, boy.  Easy.  Shh, shh…”

When the animal calmed and settled into the dirt, Roland stroked his ears and patted his head. 

“Stay here, Chipper, and keep quiet,” he whispered, “I’ll be back…hopefully soon.”

Peeking through the leaves, Roland observed the stairs to the castle, unguarded, save for the trail of messenger mushrooms leading away into the woods.  Taking a deep breath, and uttering a silent prayer to whatever deity was listening, he emerged from his hiding place, and crept as casually as possible to the entrance.  

Every nerve under Roland’s skin was tingling like wind chimes, and his shivering had nothing to do with the chill in the air.  Every faint, random rustle and snap in the foliage around him thundered mercilessly in his ears.  The sudden shriek of a nearby crow threw a yelp of alarm to his throat, but he managed to catch it with a cough.  He kept his eyes trained to the stones beneath his feet.

If there was another way, a _safer_ way, to do this, Roland wished he knew.  Perhaps he just wasn’t clever enough to figure it out, so this was his only remaining choice.  Even if he _could_ locate Sierra’s home, or _hive_ to be more accurate, all on his own, the chance of her actually being there was slim to none.  That was one unfortunate thing she’d told him about her family.  The swarm emphatically disapproved of her relationship with a fairy, as well as her decision to leave her native Dark Forest and live in the Fairy Kingdom.  As a result, they refused to acknowledge Roland in any way, but because Sierra was still kin, she was welcome for short visits, but _not_ to stay. 

So, if he was going to find her, he needed help.

And who better to help you find a citizen…

.

.

.

…than the king and queen of said citizen’s own land?

Well, be that as it may, he hoped they already knew exactly where she was, and could just tell him, anything to keep this meeting brief.  When it came to him, Marianne and that Bog guy were as mean as they were smart, and the longer Roland spent in this silly, goblin getup, the less confident he felt in its protection. 

Glancing up as he reached the top of the steps, he flinched as he caught a glimpse of enormously sharp looming fangs, but recovered when he saw that it was only a musk deer skull.  The remains of the same one that had marked the doorway to the original castle, he guessed.  The mandible was missing, and the maxilla was lined with cracks, scuffs, and a few chipped or altogether missing teeth. 

 _Please don’t let that be an omen._   He thought as he pursed his lips and shuffled into the jagged mouth.

“Halt!  Who goes there?”

Roland froze in fear as a pudgy green goblin waddled towards him.  It stopped within arm’s reach, and planted its fists on its wide hips as it gave him a scrutinizing frown.  Though it barely came up to his waist, Roland tried not to fidget as his pulse thumped hard and fast.

“You here to see the king and queen?”  It asked after a pause. 

“Uh, y-yeah.” Roland replied, deepening his voice and dropping his accent.  “Yes, I am.”

“What’s your business?”

“Ah…missing person.  My er, w-w-wife.”

The goblin’s deadpan stare glinted with sympathy.

“Ooo, sorry to hear that.  I’m sure they’ll be glad to help.  Name?”

“Rol-!  Um…Rrrrrolly.  Rolly.”

“Rolly, huh?  I gotta nephew with that name.  Follow me, please.”

Relaxing a little at the knowledge that he’d apparently passed the preliminary test, Roland hurried after his escort as it led him though a corridor off to the right, guarded by two _massive_ ogres who growled lowly at him as he slipped between them and was soon led up a lengthy winding staircase made from the oak’s own wood. 

Eventually, they came to a second hallway where the stairs were continued on the left opposite another short passage with several unidentifiable quarters, but Roland’s attention was solely for what lay straight ahead through a pair of open double doors:

The throne room.

Flooded with fresh uncertainty, Roland hesitated as his escort crossed to the threshold and spoke quietly to a brownish goblin with fishy lips and knobby fingers.  When their exchange was complete, the green goblin abruptly turned back the way they’d come, giving Roland a neutral nod and _no_ explanation before it disappeared downstairs.

The new goblin marched right up to Roland and shook his gloved hand.

“How do you do?”  It greeted with a toothy grin.  “Nice to meet ya, Rolly!  I’m Thang!  Have you ever been presented to the king and queen before?”

Roland listened to the muttering, echo-y voices ahead and gulped.   

 “…No.”

“Oh, well we’re happy to have you!  It’s pretty simple.”  Thang explained.  “You wait right here until I announce you, stop halfway to the dais steps, bow, and do _not_ speak until one of them addresses you.  Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Atta boy.  When you’re dismissed, remember to bow and then thank them, but make sure you thank the queen _first_ , king’s orders.”     

“O-okay.”

“And don’t worry.”  Thang said, giving Roland’s shin what he assumed was supposed to be a reassuring nudge.  “There’s nothing to be afraid of.  They’re tough, but _fair_.”

 _Easy fer_ you _to say…_

At last, the talking faded, and a gnome exited the throne room, with a skip in its stride.  It waved goodbye to him and Thang, but Roland didn’t get a chance to see where it went, for his heart just about stopped altogether when Thang announced his presence with a deafening bellow.

“PRESENTING: _ROLLY_ , YOUR MAJESTIES!!!”

Roland clutched his heaving chest and gaped at the goblin until it insistantly jerked its bulging eyes towards the throne room, indicating that he needed to get a move on.  Knowing that it was now or never, Roland clenched his fists and forced himself to proceed on stiff legs, concentrating on Sierra with every step. 

Keeping his head up, but using the lip of his hood as a sort of visual dividing line, he made sure to only allow himself to see what was just ahead of him.  If he had to watch Marianne and Bog as he approached, he’d surly lose his nerve. 

What if they refused to help him?  What if he blew his _cover_?  What if they’d already recognized him, and were just waiting in silence for the perfect moment to spring?!

His muted, shallow breathing was starting to make him see double, and he blinked hard to collect himself.  He couldn’t afford to have a panic attack.

 _Keep it together…_               

When at last he was a respectable distance from the three dais steps, he chose to exercise extreme formality by lowering himself to his knee, and after a few seconds, he allowed himself to gaze upon the monarchs.

The Bog King was as frighteningly imposing as ever; mighty, amber-ensconced, iron staff in his grip, stern face, hunched posture.

But Marianne…

How fierce she was when he'd _last_ encountered her, must’ve been a transitioning period, for it didn’t hold a _candle_ to the image before him now!

It seemed that being queen really suited her.

Dressed in menacing, full-body armor the shade of a black dahlia, sheathed sword at her hip, a crown of rubies on her head, with her booted legs crossed, and the dark paint on her focused eyes and lips, she looked ready to summon an army and conquer a mountain at a moment’s notice.  If the king was the bark, she was undoubtedly the _bite_.

In the back of Roland’s mind, he found himself glad that things hadn’t worked out between them.  He definitely needed someone less… _intense_.

However, he was not ignorant of the tenderness they possessed.

They sat side by side in matching (and still odious) thrones fashioned from the pelvic bones of two small mammals.  Their arms rested comfortably over the iliac crests, so they could hold hands.  Marianne’s fingers were nearly swallowed by the Bog King’s, yet his clawed thumb leisurely stroked her powerful knuckles with the gentlest of care. Their relationship really was interesting, and as Roland watched, he felt envious.  Not _of_ the winged goblin, but of what they were sharing.  How he missed the soft rasp of Sierra’s tiny, delicate claws against his palm, either in holding or communication.       

His wistful musings were interrupted by the Bog King’s gravelly voice.

“Good mornin’.  Got a cold?”

“ _Huh_?”  Roland returned awkwardly, thrown by the inquiry.

“He means your cloak.”  Marianne clarified with a half grin.  “The weather’s been pretty nasty, hasn’t it?”

“Uh…yes!  A cold!  Yeah, I’ve been…f-fighting it off!” 

Roland punctuated his claim with a series of rather convincing wet coughs.

“Hmm,” the Bog King grunted, once Roland was quiet again, “what brings ye here today, Rolly?”

The tension in Roland’s muscles began to ease, hardly able to believe his luck.  They were buying it! 

“It’s m-my wife, y-y-your majesties.  She’s missing.”

Marianne’s brow pinched with concern.

“Oh, that’s _terrible_!  How long has she been gone?”

“About a week; s-six days.”

“ _Six_?”  Bog repeated in disbelief, sitting up a bit in his seat.  “Ye know the chances o' findin’ a missin’ person _alive_ in the Dark Forest is much greater if it’s reported in less than _half_ that time!  Why didn’t ye come to us _sooner_?”

Roland inwardly withered with guilt at how close to home the Bog King’s question had struck.

_Because I’m an idiot._

“…Be-because of my _cold_ , s-s-sire!  I was so weak, I-I could barely get outta bed!” 

Well, it was only a _partial_ lie. 

“We’ll do everything we can to find your wife, Rolly.”  Marianne assured.  “But I do hope you understand that with this delay, you……you should be _prepared_.”

The premature elation Roland felt at their promise to assist him was dissolved by the possibility of what they were implying sinking in.  What if Sierra was-?

!!!

She’d always told him how the Dark Forest was a risky place even in the daytime, and if she wasn’t allowed to live in the hive anymore, where else would she go all by herself?  Tremors rocked Roland’s very bones and cold sweat gathered at his neck as his imagination flashed visions of his rosebud getting squashed, or gobbled up by frogs, lizards, or carnivorous plants! 

“Rolly?”

Roland gasped at Marianne’s address.

“S-s-sorry!  Yes?”

“I asked what does your wife look like?”   

 _Calm down!  Just calm down.  She could still be alright.  She’s traveled to an' from the Dark Forest alone lots o' times!_   _She could be staying with friends, or she could even be here in the castle!_

Swallowing, and releasing a shaky sigh, Roland answered her.

“Round, sort of mauve-colored, two compound eyes, four legs, and-”

“Wait,” Bog interrupted, “she’s an _insect_?”

Roland nodded.

“Th-that’s right; a fly.”   

The Bog King appeared pensive and said something to Marianne that Roland couldn’t hear.

“This complicates things.”  Bog muttered afterwards.  “The insects aren’t part of our jurisdiction.  They’re independent, or at least, each _swarm_ governs itself.  Have ye been to her hive?”

“I h-have, your majesty.”  Roland said, chewing his lip.  “She wasn’t there.”

“But had her family seen her at _all_?”  Marianne pressed.  “Did they have any clues as to where she went?” 

“A-a-ah…!”  Roland stammered, thinking quickly of an excuse.  “I’m s-still not quite fluent in Insectese, so…all I was able t-to interpret, w-w-was that she wasn’t at the hive.”

For the first time, Marianne’s eyes narrowed in vague suspicion, and Roland huddled behind his scarf, praying that this interview was nearing its end, so he could get out of here with a search party already.

“Might be wise to send ye back with a translator, then.”  Bog concluded, knocking his staff against the floor twice to summon a pair of needle-mouthed goblins with brawny upper bodies into the room along with a gremlin.  “What was yer wife’s name, Rolly?”

Overwhelmed with eagerness to find Sierra, and the joy at apparently being in the clear, Roland sagged in relief and nearly sang:

“ _Sierra_.”

“Sierra?”  An unfamiliar voice joined.  “Sierra the _fly_?  I know that girl!”

Roland turned to see a squat, red-haired troll elder striding out from behind the king’s throne.

“Mother,” the Bog King grumbled, “what are ye doin’ here?  We’re _workin’_!”

_Mother?!_

The gobliness shrugged.

“I was bored, so I figured I’d come see how you two are making the Dark Forest a better place.  But anyway, poor Sierra!  She’s such a sweet thing!  I’m sure she’s safe though, she’s got a good head on her thorax!”

Roland couldn’t resist smiling at the honest praise for his rosebud. 

“Huh, but it’s strange…” the king’s mother continued, “…I didn’t know she’d gotten married.”

The fairy’s smile dropped.

“Why, the last I’d heard, she was shacked up with that troublemaker.”  She went on, prompting Roland to start attempting to back away towards the open doors.  “Oh, what was his name?  The one with the hair!”

“…You mean, _Roland_?”  Marianne supplied, in a distinctly venomous tone.

_Shit!  Shit!  Shit!_

“Yeah!  That’s it!  Roland!”  Bog’s mother exclaimed.  “How did you snag her away from _that_ fella, Rolly?”

But Roland was too scared to say a single word, for he was watching, as if in horrible slow motion, the pieces clicking together in Marianne’s brain, and when her eyes grew whiter, so did he.

“Wait a minute.”  She snarled, and shot from her chair with a terrifying speed.

And Roland, motionless from dread and shock, could do nothing but helplessly stand there as she viciously ripped the hood and scarf from his head.

 


	6. Chapter 6

“ROLAND!”

Ice shot from Roland’s toes to the tips of his ears at Marianne’s furious shout.  The room seemed to spin as he tottered backwards and raised his hands in that pathetically cliched gesture of defense.

“ _YOU_!”  Roared the Bog King, shooting to his feet, eyes blazing with enraged shock.

“I-I can explain!”  Roland stammered, tone high with fear.  “I don’t mean ya any-!”

“GUARDS!  _SEIZE_ HIM!”

At their furious queen’s command, the two brawny goblins obediently charged with bared teeth. 

Now, even with all the corners he’d cut, the ex-soldier had endured some rigorous physical training; the kind that made your body feel like it was full of jagged rocks by the end of the day, so he always thought he had a greater pain tolerance than the average fairy, but when those guards caught him by the arms and squeezed, Roland felt a veritable fire and lightning storm spread through his muscles, and his bones throbbed, just shy of snapping apart if he dared to resist.  The agony was unbearable, and he cried out like a child as they forced him to his knees. Tears even rimmed the corners of his eyes!  Who knew goblins were so _powerful_?! 

“I warned ye what would happen if ye set one _foot_ in our kingdom again, ye blonde bastard!”  The Bog King growled deep in his throat as he approached, making Roland’s heart beat louder with every step.  “Now, yer gonna _pay_.”

The goblins bowed Roland over, sticking his neck out as Marianne touched down beside her husband.  The king and queen of the Dark Forest stood before him, as solid and as a pair of redwoods.  Even up close, the shadowy castle made their faces appear almost black with hate, and the fiery orange glow coming from the fungi behind the thrones, made Roland imagine, to his horror, that he was facing hell’s very gate.  

_No!  No, no, no, no!  Not yet!_

“Wait, wait!”  He begged, struggling in vain against his captors.  “I’m _unarmed_!”

But his pleas went unheeded and the breath was sucked from his lungs when the heard the queen’s reply.

“ _Good_.”

As if in a dream, time slowed to an unbearable crawl as Roland watched Marianne’s hand curl around the grip of her sword.  At the first silvery glint of her blade, ice-cold terror battered his guts like hail.  He was about to die.  He’d never see Sierra again.  Just his crimson blood coating the wooden floor.

“Please!  Please, don’t!  Not yet!  I have to find her!”   

Desperate beyond measure, he thrashed and jerked as would a guppy on a hook, but he was just as weak and helpless, for the goblins snarled and pushed him closer to their queen.  Roland could feel his energy draining away, and when he saw Marianne’s sword, unsheathed and rising to strike, he cringed and closed his eyes so he could comfort himself with the memories of his rosebud. 

Her beautiful paintings…

Her delicious meals…

Her shyness…

Her wisdom…

Her warmth…

But his last thought would be his favorite: the wonderful way her antennae would tickle his lips when they kissed, sending delicious shivers across his skin.  _No_ one kissed like her!

_Sierra…I-_

“HOLD IT!  HOOOOOOOOLD IT!”  A mysterious voice shouted, shattering Roland’s concentration, and nearly making him pass out in alarm.

Daring to open his eyes, he was stunned to see a glowing blue figure zipping about the throne room as swiftly as a hummingbird.  It came to a stop directly in front of Roland, throwing its arms out protectively, and addressed the equally surprised king and queen.    

“Before you two get heads rolling,” the intruder chuckled, as if it had just interrupted a party instead of an execution, “shouldn’t we take a moment to examine the facts?”

The Bog King recovered his composure with a glare.

“Plum!  What are ye doin’ here?!” 

 _Plum?  As in, the Sugar Plum Fairy?_   Roland wondered.

“I’m _free_ , remember?"  The spirit grinned, casually inspecting her fingertips as a woman would inspect her nails.  “I go where I please!”

“This has nothin’ to do with ye, Plum.  Move aside!”

Plum only placed her hands on her hips in defiance.

“My, my, lord Bog King.  Skipping the trial process _again,_ are we?”

The Bog King made to reply, but ultimately shut his mouth with a disgruntled snort.

“Plum,” Marianne cut in, sheathing her sword, “this is a criminal about to be punished for trespassing in the Dark Forest!  It was the _one_ law _we_ gave him to follow!  He knew it, yet he broke it anyway, so now he must suffer the consequences!  We’re perfectly within our rights!”

“Yes, yes, yes.”  Plum said, waving her off.  “I’m not here to quibble about that.  I’d just like to take the chance to understand his motivations.  Under the circumstances, don’t they seem a bit strange to you?”

The Bog King scowled at the spirit.

“We dorn’t _care_ what his bloody-!”

“Well, shouldn’t you?  I mean, obviously, he’s not the sharpest thorn in the briar patch, but considering how all it took him was one visit to destroy your old place, he can’t be _completely_ stupid.  He’s gotta be here for something vitally important!”

“If you’re talking about that phony ‘missing wife’ story, then save it!”  Marianne retorted.  “Everybody knows Roland was love-dusted, so he-!”

“Exactly!”  Plum exclaimed, much to Bog and Marianne’s silent confusion as the spirit then whirled around and grabbed Roland’s face. 

Ignoring his startled yelp, she tilted his head to and fro, and leaned in uncomfortably close, her blue gaze boring into his own.

“Yup, just as a thought!”  She announced at last.  “She did it!”

“ _Who_ did _what_?”  The Bog King demanded.

“Sierra, of course!  She broke the spell.  The poor dear came to me a week ago, asking how to set the boy free, and I told her how.”

Roland felt heavy dread roll along his spine at the spirit’s explanation.

_So, she wasn’t visiting her family that day…_

“She…” he croaked, “she asked you how to-?”

“You, shut up!”  Marianne barked, stabbing a finger in Roland’s direction, before narrowing her eyes at Plum.  “How can you tell for sure?” 

The spirit sniffed, as if a touch offended.

“Your majesty, if there’s _one_ thing I know, it’s _my_ work, and I’m telling you, there’s not a _trace_ of potion in his eyes anymore.  His head’s as clear as spring water.”

“Alright, fine!  So, he’s not under a spell anymore, what does it matter?  He still violated-!”

“What does it matter?”  Plum repeated in disbelief.  “What does it _matter_?!  I should say it matters a great _deal_!  You _have_ to help him find Sierra now!”

The king and queen recoiled as if they’d been slapped, and their features contorted with astonished anger.

“Why on this green earth would we EVER agree to help HIM?!”  Marianne seethed.  “Are you _insane_?!  After all the things that cheating little worm has done, he _dares_ to have the _nerve_ to show up here and ask _us_ for a _favor_?!  The answer is _NO_ , AND IT WILL _ALWAYS_ BE **_NO_**!!!”    

Roland cowered under the force of Marianne’s wrath.  The throne room appeared to tremble from her powerful, screaming echoes.  He even saw a few trickles of dust from the ceiling.  In the thick, almost deathly quiet that followed, he began to sink further and further, both in body and emotion.

This was all his fault.    

He was to blame for Marianne’s hatred, as well as the Bog King’s.  How many others had he hurt, while blinded by greed, and selfishness?  In all honesty, getting his worthless head lopped off was a blessing compared to the penalty of having Sierra forever beyond his reach, due to his foolish choices. 

_How did she ever fall fer somethin' like me?_

.

.

.

 

“Well,” the Sugar Plum Fairy huffed, “I think that’s awfully _petty_ of you!”

Marianne’s eyes flashed dangerously.

“Ex _cuse_ me?!”

“Ye will _not_ speak to my queen that way!”  The Bog King hissed, stepping forward in warning.

But the spirit just scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Oh, blow it out your tracheae!  _I_ didn’t make this personal, _you_ did!  You’re both being so hypocritical right now, it’s _embarrassing_!”

The king and queen took a second to splutter their indignation, but Plum wasn’t finished.  Not by a long shot.

“When you got together, you made such a big deal about ‘returning love to the Dark Forest’ and encouraging others to ‘give real love a chance’, and to find someone who loves you for ‘who you are and not just how you look’.  You’ve been doing everything you possibly can to help your people find the happiness you found, all the while, parading that motto around, day in and day out: ‘ _Everybody deserves to be loved_!’”

Roland looked up in time to see the royal pair exchange a pensive glance and Plum went on:

“Well, here we have someone who could seriously use some of that ideal, and what do you do?  Try to execute him on the spot!  I don’t blame you for disliking him, and for being upset that he broke the law and crossed the border, but you can’t deny the _truth_!  That Sierra girl managed to _honestly_ fall in love with him, and break the spell.  So, if he’s of sound mind, why do you suppose he’s here right now, putting his life in jeopardy, just to ask for help to find her from _you_ two of _all_ creatures?  What single reason is strong enough for a risk like that, hmm?”

As the question hung unanswered in the air, a soft gasp escaped Roland’s lips at her implication.  It wasn’t the claim itself that struck him.  Deep inside, some part of him had known it for the past six days; felt it whispering to him like distant katydids in the early evening, but to hear it all but confirmed by another, the so-called ‘expert’ on the subject…it filled his raw senses with the sweet, warm taste of wine, and made him want to weep from elation. 

How foreign it was to him, feeling so strongly attached to someone else!  It was frightening, but not half as frightening as losing that connection altogether; a connection she shared.  Nothing could be more precious.  No crown, no army…

_Nothing._

The stray tear sliding over his cheek almost made him miss the rest of Plum's speech:

“Now, you don’t have to forgive and forget.  Heck, you don’t even have to _like_ this.  I just think the king and queen should practice what they preach.  You never said _some_ people deserve to be loved, or _most_ people.  Everybody means exactly that: _every-body_.  That includes people _you_ might believe to be ‘unlovable.’”

She moved then to Roland’s side, and placed a supportive hand on his right shoulder, paying no mind to the grumblings of the guards.

“Or are you saying that only _you_ get to decide who’s worthy of love and who isn’t?”   

Marianne and the Bog King were speechless.  A number of conflicting sentiments passed through their faces, and they eventually met each other’s eyes in search of a clear decision.  

“She’s right, you know.”

Roland blinked as the red-headed goblin from before sidled up to the group; he’d forgotten she was there, and judging from the Bog King’s pouty frown, he wasn’t the only one.

“Mother!”

“Well, she _is_!”  The elder stressed.  “Most goblins would say your father wasn’t worthy of my love.  In fact, nobody believed that _more_ than _he_ did, himself.  But I loved him anyway, and _he_ loved _me_.  That’s why you exist, sweetheart!  You can’t let a grudge stand in the way of what you believe in, not again.”

“You two should know better than _anyone_ ,” Plum joined, “that people make _mistakes_ …”

She gave the Bog King a pointed look…

“…and people can _change_.”

…then the same to Marianne.

“At the very _least_ , you shouldn’t punish Sierra by never letting her know she’s found the real thing, so she has nothing to feel ashamed of.”

For what could’ve been a century, the king and queen remained quiet, but thoughtful.  Marianne’s hands curled into fists and her jaw clenched, but when the Bog King sighed and caught her eye, she seemed to admit defeat to the war in her mind.  Regardless, she stubbornly jerked her head away and glared at a random spot on the floor, neutrally giving her husband the reins to the situation.  

“Thang!” 

The brown, bug-eyed goblin came running into the room at his king’s call.

“Yes, sire?” 

“Ready three mounts to travel to the hive,” the Bog King instructed, “an’ tell Stuff to take a few ogres an’ search the castle grounds fer a grey squirrel, an’ to tie it up when she finds it; I’m assumin’ this fool didn’t come on foot.” 

“Got it, sire!”  

“Please, don’t hurt Chipper!”  Roland cried before the goblin could leave.

Thang smiled at him reassuringly.

“We won’t!  Stuff loves animals!”

“Get goin’, Thang!”  The Bog King yelled.

As the aide obediently left to do his task, the king marched off to the right, directing the group to follow with his staff. 

“Let’s get a move on.” He muttered.  “I wanna be done with this nonsense an’ back here before moonrise.”

As Roland was dragged behind the irritated monarchs, he glanced back to see the Sugar Plum Fairy and the Bog King’s mother staring after him, and sharing a fist bump.

He was taken down a long, winding corridor and up a few flights of steps to an archway leading to the outside.  A mighty branch stretched before them, and soon, Thang appeared from around the back of the tree, riding one of three dragonflies, all tethered by a single rope.  When they landed, The Bog King muttered something to the gremlin (who Roland now guessed was the insect translator), and said gremlin hummed, and took the rope from Thang.  He then scurried over and bound Roland’s wrists tightly together.  The end of the rope was taken in hand by one of the brawny goblins as they at last released their crushing hold on Roland’s arms.  The surge of numbness nearly made him collapse, but he managed to keep his footing. 

While the guards were busy readying their steeds, Roland took the opportunity to sneak a few inches over, as close as he could, to Marianne’s side.  She’d been firmly keeping her back to him.

“M-M-Marianne?  Fer what it’s worth,” he murmured, “I-I jus’ wanna thank-”

A fist crashing into the bark, just shy of Roland’s nose, instantly clammed him up.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” the queen said in a sharp, burning tone, “we are definitely _not_ doing this for _YOU_.  After we find her, if I get even the _slightest_ hint that you’ve just been stalking her or something, that your ‘feelings’ aren’t genuine, then your ass is grass, right then and there.  And furthermore, you’re to follow these simple rules:  You, don’t talk.  _Ever_.  Just do as you’re told, and stay the hell away from me and Bog.  Think you can handle that?”         

Roland gulped, forcing down the sting of harsh rejection, and gave a simple nod in consent. 

He flinched when the Bog King’s staff suddenly swung into his line of vision, between him and Marianne, and its owner threateningly glowered at him.

“See that ye do.”

Lifting her chin, Marianne strode out onto the branch and spread her wings, ready to fly.

“Ye stay low.”  The Bog King ordered his prisoner.  “Make one wrong move, an’ yer _dead_.”

Roland nodded once more, and the goblin followed his queen with a final roar over his shoulder to the waiting guards.

“MOUNT UP!”

The goblins did so, and when the king and queen took to the sky, one of the guards, the one holding the rope, stirred his dragonfly into flight.  Roland flapped his wings the second he felt the tug of his binds, and made sure to stay safely beneath the rider, as the other two flanked him. 

Soaring into the Dark Forest, he noticed with great unease, a frantic Chipper being lassoed and pulled by several ogres into a covered pen below. 

_Sierra, wherever ya are, please be close._


	7. Chapter 7

“Berz- _zeer_!”

Sierra retracted her blood-soaked proboscis from just behind the mouse’s ear.  The furry creature squeaked in appreciation at her giving him the all clear, and scampered off into the brush.  Using her tarsi to clean her mouth, she slurped up the last of the crimson fluid and hummed with satisfaction at the warm, energizing taste. 

For her kind, when it came to diet, there was nothing quite like blood.  Of course, they could consume plenty of other foods, as long as they were either in soup form, or crushed and ground into pieces small enough for them to take in through their proboscises, but blood was the only thing that they could live on _exclusively._

That being the case, it was merely a few centuries ago that they were the terror of the Dark Forest; swarming in and latching themselves onto any poor, unsuspecting animal and sucking it dry.  However, during that time, the goblin race steadily grew in strength, size, and anger that their sources of meat were disappearing at such a carless rate.

So, they fought back; armed with claws, teeth, and with an unusually bitter flavor of blood under their skin, soon the flies were subdued, with no choice but to negotiate, or face extinction. 

The negotiation took several grueling weeks, with the flies trying various assortments of liquid dishes, discovering what they could and couldn’t use as alternative nourishments.  When at last it was confirmed that they could healthily survive without blood, they agreed to the goblins’ terms of using moderation in their hematophagy, and for the benefit of the Dark Forest’s inhabitants. 

One interesting aspect the goblins had discovered beforehand was that the flies could detect harmful irregularities in an animal’s blood, indicating a disease; they would then leave said animal alone.  Needless to say, this didn’t solve the food problem for the goblins.  After all, no meat was better than poison.  Yet, it did bring up quite a solution!

Ever since then, the flies had become in a sense, doctors.  They would gently sip the blood of a _willing_ participant and determine whether the subject was well.  If so, the volunteer went on their way, leaving the fly with a full stomach.  If not, the fly would direct them to seek proper care from the goblin healers, whom would often prescribe medicinal herbs and mineral baths in a hot spring. 

And thus, a new system was born and sustained for many, many years now.  The flies had opted to remain under their own hive jurisdiction, but it was an alliance that satisfied both parties beautifully. 

It made Sierra feel good to help, even if she technically wasn’t the one to fix the problem, to at least know she was keeping the Dark Forest prospering was a wonderful feeling…

…something she definitely needed, as of late. 

Sighing, Sierra aimlessly followed up the winding path of the creek, trailing one of her back legs in the muddy puddles along the edge. 

No matter how much she tried to distract herself, no matter what random tasks she took up to occupy her time, it all came back to _him_.

She had no right to feel sad. 

The whole situation had been deplorable, and now he was free; they both were.  All was, more or less, as it was supposed to be.  She should’ve been happy…

…but she just couldn’t help it.

She missed the cottage, the garden, Chipper, and of course…

_Roland._

It was stupid, and she knew it; to miss what you never really had.  In some deep, dark corner of her conscience, she’d always been aware that it was too good to be true.  What, the first fairy male she’d ever met up close takes one look at her and declares his undying love?  That was bizarre even among her _own_ kind.  

Call her weak, call her selfish, but she just found all that attention and tenderness to be so…so… _addictive_.  Sure, he didn’t even remotely resemble any of the males of her species, yet he was intriguing in a different way; an _exotic_ way.  She found herself fascinated by his strange features, and all his pretty words and gentle caresses?  She’d never been spoken to, nor touched that way before, so she’d blushed and giggled and reveled in being so devoutly adored. Plus, her self-esteem was still recuperating from that humiliating dismissal from the Bog King. 

As time went on, however, she became more sensible to the trouble surrounding her new paramour.  For starters, he was arrested not even a minute after they’d emerged from the chasm.  The triplets had been looking for him, perhaps to make a run for it, but the other fairy soldiers must’ve heard them calling his name, for the next thing Sierra knew, Roland and been ripped away from her and bound in chains, as were Tom, Dick, and Harry.  Frightened and confused, she’d tried to back away to the safety of her Dark Forest, but Roland had thrashed and screamed for her, causing such a hysterical ruckus, she soon found _herself_ arrested as well, and dragged to the fairy castle.  

They were all promptly locked away in the dungeons, where they were told they would remain until their trial.  Alone in her separate cell, Sierra shivered and cried from fear.  She’d just been out innocently gathering aphid eggs, and now she was in jail for some mysterious crime no one would explain.  What had she done wrong?  How long would she be here?  What if she was going to be executed?  She wanted to go home!

And that’s when she heard it…

 _Wise men say~_  
_Only fools rush in~_  
_But I can't help~_  
_Falling in love~_  
_With you~_

She turned to see Roland, sitting against the bars separating their cells, and watching her with shining eyes and a serene smile on his face, not bothered at all by the fact that they were in jail. 

As he continued to sing, he held his hand out to her, and against all logic, Sierra allowed herself to be comforted.  She slipped her foreleg into his palm and let him tug her closer.  He stroked her head and rubbed his gloved thumb over her tiny claws.

“Don’t cry, rosebud.”  He’d whispered when he finished his song.  

That was the first time he’d ever called her that, and she remembered how it sent a delightful tingle through her form, same as it had ever since. 

The next morning, she’d woken up to the sound of her cell door being unlocked and opened.  At some point, after she’d fallen asleep, Roland and his friends had been taken upstairs to their trial.  The boys were put on probation, while Roland had been banished and stripped of his rank.  _She_ was free to go, and profusely apologized to for the mistake of her detainment, but when Roland begged and pleaded with her to stay, she was simply trapped by those wide eyes, as green as the spring.  So, she agreed to live with him on the sandy bank.    

It was a crazy decision; a whim.  Her family had a _fit_!  How dare she do such a radical thing?  Not only courting, but sharing a home with someone outside her race _and_ her native land?  It was downright _scandalous_! 

But…

She honestly didn’t care!  All her life, she’d only ever felt needed.  There was always something important for a fly to do for the swarm: pad the walls of their hive with mud, gather food, care for the young, etc.  Everyone had a useful purpose. 

No one had ever made her feel _wanted_ before!  And wanted as an _individual_ , not like she was part of a crowd, but unique.  Special. 

So, even if she didn’t trust it completely, she was helpless to resist such a dream come true!

At first, everything was wonderful, if not a bit awkward.  The language barrier took diligent work, not that Roland wasn’t an avid pupil.  She just wasn’t used to such personal devotion.  Every little thing she did earned her the highest of praise.  Thankfully, she was sensible enough to deflect most of his awe.  Instead, she made to learn as much about him as possible, and he was more than willing to share.  She was sympathetic to his childhood, amazed at his interests, and entertained by how pleased and swaggering he became whenever she returned his countless compliments.  Clearly, he had a high opinion of himself, second only to her.  It was embarrassing, but flattering. 

And he certainly knew how to charm!  Those roguish grins, those sweet songs, that crooning, accented voice.  It filled her with such silly, feminine delight!  But the best part was when he held her in his arms; their strength made her feel so safe, and sometimes he’d even wrap his large, fuzzy wings around her, giving her more warmth than any blanket ever had.  His foreignness didn’t bother her in the least.  If anything, it only enticed her further.  She remembered his kisses, how that soft, smooth thing in his fairy mouth called a ‘tongue’ would brush against her sensitive antennae, almost making her melt to the floor.  _No_ one kissed like him!    

She’d be lying if she said she’d ever been happier.  He never pushed her.  Whatever boundaries she set, he respected, with nothing more than an adorable pout, at most.  They made a great team.  Together, they turned his place of exile into the prettiest retreat anyone could imagine.  He did the designing and heavy-lifting, while she used her knowledge to lighten their toil as best she could and focused on the finishing touches, making everything lovely.  They flourished in their own little world they’d built from the ground up.

Still…

She was not ignorant of the rumors circulating about him and his past.  Obviously, he’d done bad things; he wouldn’t have been banished if he was a model citizen.  She didn’t hear everything at once, just bits and pieces every now and then.  First from the triplets, then from the soldiers and merchants and customers at the market.  Initially, she made the upmost attempt to pay it no mind, for she’d been brought up not to put stock in gossip, but gradually, certain things she caught in those hushed conversations began to chip away at her confidence and contentment. 

Words like ‘womanizer’, ‘cheater’, and worst of all, ‘love potion’.

It didn’t bother her that he had a long history with the opposite sex; multiple suitors were common for insects, too. But the more she found out about how he’d treated them, the more uncomfortable she became.  To know that he was capable of infidelity, that his moral integrity wasn’t solid enough to prevent him from making such a hurtful decision, was both disappointing and worrisome to the nth degree. 

Then came the heavy hailstone that was the story of him and the eldest princess, now her _queen_.  Every murmured detail Sierra discovered shook her to the core.  He’d been engaged to marry the heir to the Fairy Kingdom!  Probably one of, if not _the_ most desirable fairy females alive!  Gorgeous, educated, affluent, powerful!  And yet he still had the gall to be untrue?!         

Some said he’d only ever been interested in the crown, and that made sense.  By then, she knew he was ambitious and goal-oriented.  She just had no idea that he was apparently also conniving, deceitful, and even _dangerous_.    

He had convinced an elf to help him, then used him as his fall guy.

He had held a sword to the younger princess’s throat.

He had attacked her king and destroyed his castle.

And he had attempted to use the love potion on his ex-fiancé.

To _force_ her to love him again, so she would marry him, and he would finally rule the Fairy Kingdom, and have the army under his complete control.     

When she eventually patched the whole sordid story together, all these unfortunate details shadowed her mind and mood like gathering storm clouds.  Yes, all of it was still only word of mouth, and she could’ve easily deemed it false, yet…

The evidence to its validity was impossible to dismiss.    

His banishment.

His being a social pariah.

And soon, his own admission.

Yes, one night, she’d asked him to tell her about Marianne, and he did.  He talked about it almost as if it was some funny, random adventure brought on by youthful unrest and ignorance, but every chuckle was like a stab in the thorax. 

She slowly withdrew from him then; spent more time in the Dark Forest trying to clear her head and wrangle her emotions.

Her suspicions from the very beginning had been confirmed.  It wasn’t real.  He was just under a spell.

Except it didn’t matter because it was already too late.  The damage was done.

.

.

.

She was in love with him.       

Day by day, it grew like a flower.  No, stronger than a flower, like a tree!  She fell in love with his focused and scrunched up expression whenever he was immersed in whatever project he’d given himself to do around the house, with how affectionate and nurturing he was with Chipper, with the stories he’d tell with such energy and imagination, with how he’d scarf down her cooking and ask for seconds and thirds, even with how much time he’d spend preening in front of the bathroom mirror, trying to get his golden curls _perfect_!  The list could go on forever…

And that was why she had to let him go.  It killed her to keep living a lie.  She sought the Sugar Plum Fairy for help and was told thusly:

_Real love is the only force powerful enough to counteract the potion.  Now, that you’re consciously aware of the nature of your feelings, you’re going to have to do something prove your love to him.  Then the spell will be broken._

Right then and there, Sierra knew what she had to do.  It was the one thing she’d deliberately kept to herself; that last, tiny slice of her soul.  At that point, _he’d_ said it to her a million times, but when she finally said it back, by writing it on his palm, their favorite method of communication, it was the whole, pure, and _painful_ truth.    

And how sick was it that some miniscule, traitorous voice inside kept whispering to her that she should go home to him because, after everything, he _had_ to feel the same way for her?!

But that was utterly _impossible_!  With his reputation, there was no way, no how, he could ever love _her_ in return, not how she loved him.  He’d once told her that beauty was in the eye of the beholder, and she’d believed him, but she was wiser now.  Only the love dust in his eyes made her beautiful to him; without it, his standards and obsession with looks were as they’d always been.  Her kind were not considered physically attractive to fairies in any shape or form.  Sure, she’d managed to make a few friends among them, but showing kindness and generosity didn’t mean you were willing to _mate_.  So, there was absolutely no room for a hideous creature like her in his shallow heart.  He’d likely gag at the sight of her, as Tom, Dick, and Harry did over a year ago.  

What hurt the most though, was that she believed he rightly despised her now, for allowing the farce to last as long as it had; that all the time, laughter, and labors they’d shared ultimately meant nothing to him.  It had all vanished like the pink, sparkly mist that drifted from his eyes when she’d confessed.     

_No._

She _was_ home, where she belonged.  Sort of. 

The hive had decreed she wait six full moon phases before she’d be allowed to rejoin her family permanently.  Until then, she could make daily visits, if she wished, but she had to make her dwelling elsewhere.  She’d chosen a great, hollowed out, bald cypress tree stump by the stream.  A mound of dirt served as the floor, and it leaked a trifle in the rain, but it was sturdy and secluded, as she desired.  There, she could be alone with her blissful memories of gold and green; the one precious thing she had left to keep.        


	8. Chapter 8

Deep in the heart of a vast marshland, the air was alive with the sound of buzzing hums, though with the oppressive fog obscuring the majority of their source, the atmosphere was decidedly tense and mysterious.    

Roland stood by his two burly, stone-faced goblin guards, as Marianne and the Bog King conversed in hushed tones with their translator gremlin and the handful of insects that had come out to greet them.  They’d had to approach on foot along the crooked trails made by the various rocks that managed to rise from the murky waters.  According to what he’d heard the Bog King say earlier, flying towards the hive uninvited was considered an act of aggression, and being outside the royal jurisdiction, it paid not to upset their neighbors.               

The hive itself had turned out to be much, _much_ larger than Roland could’ve imagined.  A boulder-sized, misshapen mass of tightly packed dry mud and wood pulp anchored to the sturdy base of several cattail reeds, it was crude, but impressive, and he appreciated the structural integrity of the architecture.  He wondered what it was like on the inside; Sierra had mentioned the numerous tunnels and chambers once or twice before. 

Still, his fascination didn’t stop him from gazing around in part wonder and part agitation, occasionally, catching glimpses of a few random insects patrolling overhead, but none sparked so much as a single jolt in his nerves. 

_Male, too big, too small, wrong color, wrong shade, too many hairs, too few…_

He was being an idiot; he knew she wasn’t here, but his yearning was too strong to ignore, so he searched in vain regardless, until the king and queen came stomping back with the translator following close behind.  He visually perked at their approach, wishing his Insectese and _hearing_ were strong enough to pick up more than a handful of words they’d exchanged with the ‘welcome party’, but he knew he’d heard them say Sierra’s name at least half a dozen times.   

But he was to be disappointed for expecting an immediate and/or voluntary explanation from his hosts. 

“Let’s move.”  The Bog King ordered, already taking to the air, but keeping a low altitude with Marianne at his side. 

The unceremonious jerk Roland received from his guards stifled any question or complaint he almost foolishly made.  At least they were moving, but he couldn’t help casting a last forlorn glance over his shoulder as they left his sweet rosebud’s birth home.  To his surprise though, he saw the swarm gather to watch their visitors leave.  From the sky, the hive itself, or the surrounding reeds, they grouped together and just _stared_. 

Hundreds of tiny black eyes staring…

…and judging.

_What must they think of me?_

Over the past year, the love potion had kept Roland either unaware or merely indifferent to his social seclusion, but today…

…he’d never felt like more of an outsider than he did at this very moment.  And how many times had he made others feel this awful?    

.

.

.

He set his jaw.

Well, they may never accept _him_ , and that was honestly fine, but by _juniper_ , he was going to _find_ Sierra and make things right.  He _refused_ to be something she or _anyone_ should be ashamed of any longer.

As the hive and the buzzing of its inhabitants vanished into the fog, and the search party was alone in the marsh again, Roland noticed the translator gremlin on his left; stoically riding his dragonfly steed. 

Keeping a careful eye on Marianne and the Bog King up ahead, he leaned over a bit and whispered to the goblin:

“Psst!  Hey, little fella?”

The gremlin gave the ex-soldier an annoyed look, but answered with a huff.

“The name’s Gil.”

“Sorry, um…Gil, but…..wh-what did they say, a-about-?”

“They said your Sierra hasn’t been seen at the hive in two days.  She usually comes every three, but the king and queen want _you_ out of the Dark Forest as soon as possible, so we aren’t going to wait for her return.  They want to track her.  Apparently, she’s been staying on her own in a dwelling along the river, about five miles from here.  If we hurry, we should find her well before sundown.”  Gil replied coldly and with bared teeth.

Roland ignored the snub in favor of relief.  He certainly didn’t want to wait another minute, let alone a whole day, before seeing Sierra again.  The instant he saw her (and got these damn binds off) he was going to sweep her into his arms and give her biggest kiss she’d ever had!  He knew they needed to talk more than exchange cuddles, but come _on_!  They’d been apart for a _week_!  A _miserable_ week!  Would affection be such a bad opener?      

“Thank ya, Gil.”

The gremlin blinked at him, obviously not expecting such manners, nor the big bright smile. 

“Eh…you’re welcome?”

“I jus’ hope my rosebud’s alright.”

“…I’m sure she’s fine.  Sierra’s pretty resourceful.” 

“Ya know her?”

“Yeah, I know her.  She…saved my rat’s life a couple years back; had a virus and I didn’t even know.”

“Ya have a rat?”

“It’s a…pet.  Her name’s Silky.” 

“Oh, that’s nice.  I have a squirrel named Chipper; Sierra takes real good care of him.”

“And _you_ better take real good care of _her_.”  Gil advised with a pointed glare.  “She definitely deserves better than a convicted criminal.  And it’s no secret what you did to the queen, either!  So just remember, _fairy_ : Sierra’s got _friends_ over here, and if you _ever_ treat her the way you treated Lady Marianne, we’ll come after you.  We’ll rip your wings off and use ‘em as doormats!”     

Roland frowned and watched Marianne’s back for a minute in silence.  The tension in her muscles was obvious, and her fists hadn’t unclenched since they’d left the castle, and he knew it was his fault.  She was so different from the wide-eyed, flighty maiden he’d known three years ago.  He remembered how thoughtful and giddy she was; how devoted she’d been to his happiness…

…and he’d been such a jerk.  For absolutely no reason at all.

Hot, sticky guilt trickled into his stomach like tar.  He may have never been truly in love with Marianne, or any of the other girls he’d fooled around with in the past, but that didn’t mean they deserved to be hurt.  They were all lovely people, inside and out. 

And if Sierra ever broke _his_ heart in a such a way, he’d never recover.  He’d feel…

…stupid and worthless and humiliated and ugly and…

_Just like how I made all those poor girls feel._

“…Ya won’t have to rip ‘em off.”  He finally said.  “I’ll cut ‘em fer ya myself.”  

Gil raised a brow, but pursed his lips, pleased at the tenacity.

“I’ll hold ya to that.  Though it does help to know you’re serious.” 

“As a snake bite.”

“And everybody knows she's really in love with _you_.”

“She _is_?”  Roland asked, turning to face the gremlin more directly, eyes shining with hopeful joy.

“Yep.  Whenever she’d come home to visit, all she’d talk about was you; you and your squirrel, and your songs, and your cottage by the river.  My _wife_ wants to move closer to the water now thanks to all her stories!”

“I think you’ll like it.  It’s great fer-”

“Keep it _down_ back there!”

Roland obediently shut his mouth at Marianne’s rough command, and gave Gil an apologetic shrug. 

No more words were spoken between the two until the fog lifted.  They’d left the shrouded marshland and followed the branch off to the main stream, heading east.  In the cloudy, stale afternoon light, Roland kept his eyes peeled so hard they stung, but he saw nothing but the flowing stream, the muddy banks, and the surrounding forest, occasionally interrupted by the sighting of your stray thirsty woodland critter or goblin youth sent to fetch a pail full for whatever domestic use their parent(s) had described. 

But as they went on and on, and the sun dipped behind the trees, stretching countless distorted shadows across the land, Roland realized that the foliage was increasing in size and volume, to the point where almost no soil could be seen; just the crystal river. 

Almost right away, Marianne and the Bog King nodded to each other and directed the group to descend.

“The brush is too thick around here to spot her from the air.  We’ll have to continue on the ground for a little while.”  Gil whispered as soon as Roland’s feet touched the earth and he was pulled into a light jog along a thin path on the shore.  “We’re getting damn close.” 

Roland’s pulse was thundering louder and louder in his ears at every step.  Several times, he weaved from side to side, trying to see past the king and queen, but a couple of angry snarls from his guards put a quick stop to that.  He wished he could calm the bubbling emotions under his skin, but that’d be like trying to prevent a volcanic eruption.  Sierra was near; he was only moments away from seeing and holding her again!  He was so excited, he could _faint_!   

 _But what if she doesn’t want to see_ me _?_

The abrupt thought made him stumble, and the goblins huffed as they hauled him upright and back into an awkward run, but Roland’s mind was racing.

_She left.  Even if she does love me, what if that meant…that’s IT fer her?  That she’s done with me?  …It’s not like I wouldn’t deserve it.  I mean, what woman with a lick o' sense would stay with me after all I’ve done?  But…but I don’t wanna lose her!  I can’t!  She’s different!  She means everything to me!  Aw, hell…would she even believe me if I said that?  Oh, what do I tell her?!_

So lost was Roland in his own worrisome questions, that when the group came to a sharp halt and then carefully crept through a cluster of leaves lining a small clearing ahead, he was barely aware at all.  However, the answer he needed came like a bolt of morning beams, chasing away the fearful and doubting darkness:

 _Just do what ya’ve never done before.  Tell the_ truth _…_

And _there_ she was.

In the clearing, perched on a smooth stone by the stream, and washing herself with beads of water cupped in her claws.  It was a sight he’d seen a thousand times at the cottage, and it _still_ made his heart _soar_ …

…and his logic fly out the window.

“SIERRA!”

His cry might as well have been the horn blast before a chariot race, for in an instant, a huge, brown shape came charging through the bushes directly behind Sierra.

“ _MOVE_!!!”  The Bog King roared as he and his queen shot forward to deter the beast from the unsuspecting insect. 

Roland found himself hurled into a nearby patch of tall grass before he could see what became of his Sierra and the sudden attack.  His guards were gone, undoubtedly to go help fight off the creature.  Panicking, Roland scrambled to his feet and pushed through the blades to see what in the blazes was going on out there.  How could he have been so reckless and foolish not to notice that everybody had gone all quiet and cautious because they’d sensed a _predator_ in the area?!

_Please!  Please, let her be okay!_

His insides churned with nausea when he saw just what Marianne and the goblins were squaring off with: an _enormous_ wood spider.  Even aggressively crouched in defense, it towered over the Bog King himself!  But _worse_ was that he couldn’t see Sierra _anywhere_!  Frightened, he made to step into the clearing, just as the arachnid lunged for its waiting opponents.

“Get _down_ , you _bonehead_!”  A voice barked, and Roland felt a tug on his wrist binds.  “You wanna get yourself _killed_?!”

It was Gil, hunkered in the grass and holding the end of the rope.

“But, Sierra-!”

“She’s alright!  Let them take care of that beast first, then we’ll-!” 

“No.  No, I have to see fer myself!”

Yanking free, Roland made his way into the clearing, hugging the perimeter to give the battle the widest berth possible.

“Are _you_ crazy?!  Get back here!”

He ignored the well-meaning gremlin, but his progress was difficult anyway, with that giant, terrifying, and _super_ -pissed spider skittering about and hissing while the king, queen, and their goblins dodged and yelled and ran all over the place, trying to herd it away into the brush where it came from rather than kill it.  Vaguely, Roland remembered Sierra mentioning that spiders, though still potentially dangerous, were revered in the Dark Forest, and some species were even kept as _pets_.

Roland shuddered, and then had to force himself not to yelp when the spider reared up on its hind legs, exposing its twin, thorn-black fangs.

_Come on, don’t freak out now!  Just…think o’ somethin’ insipid like…like……like how brave yer bein’!  Back when ya made officer, ya woulda hid from a conflict like this, but look at ya now!  Totally a real hero this time! Off to save the pretty damsel!  Yeah…_

Thankfully, no one else seemed to be paying any attention to him, so when he finally reached the opposite side of the clearing, closest to the stone where Sierra had been bathing, he turned his back on the fight to peer through the grass…

…and saw her trembling, but unharmed form watching from only a few feet away. 

“ _Sierra_!”

She jumped and squeaked in alarm, but to Roland’s shock and despair, she immediately spun around and fled further up the bank. 

“H-hey, wait!  Sierr-!”

He should’ve watched his footing, for in his eagerness, he’d accidentally trod on his dragging rope.  The unexpected pull and loss of balance sent him twisting and falling into the mud on his side.  Winded, he opened his eyes and in a split second, he saw Marianne gaping at him in confusion, having paused her assault no doubt in wonder as to what in the world he was doing.

And unfortunately, that meant she wasn’t focusing on the spider...     

…whose large, spindly leg was currently swinging in her direction. 

“MARIANNE!  LOOK _OUT_!”

At his shout, Marianne tucked and rolled forward, narrowly avoiding the hairy appendage.  She was up in an instant; unfazed, and sword at the ready.  The Bog King rushed to her side not a second later, and the pair shared some sort of wordless exchange, ensuring each other’s safety, before he leapt back into the fray. 

Roland was in complete awe; that is, until Marianne faced him with a harsh scowl and her weapon raised.   He recoiled, but she merely slipped the blade between his hands and cut his bonds.

“Do what you have to do, and do it _fast_!”  She growled.  “ _We’ll_ handle this!  GO!!!”

He didn’t need to be told twice.  Nodding, Roland staggered out of the clearing and nearly sprinted after Sierra.  She couldn’t have gotten far, but he didn’t want to waste any more time.  Casting off his cloak and spreading his wings, he took flight over the river, keeping his keen gaze on the shore to his left. 

Almost instantly, he spotted her, desperately hurrying along the trail.

“Sierra!  Sierra, _wait_!”

She didn’t.  If anything, she only flew _faster_.

“Sierra, _stop_ , it’s _me_!  Sierra, it’s okay!”

His pleas continued to go unheeded, and Roland swallowed down tears, but urged himself on.  He knew he could easily overtake her, but he was hesitant to do so; he could tell she was already distressed enough. 

As luck would have it, she made the decision for him by ducking into the massive stump of a bald cypress tree.  He darted in after her, finding the interior to be a simple, empty rotunda with a floor of soft dirt and moss that formed a centralized mound.  In the upper part of the far wall, there was a single hole allowing a slant ray of light to pour through. 

She was heading for that hole; she could fit through it. 

He couldn’t.

His very soul wailed in agony, and when she made it to the top of the mound, he screamed the name that stopped her in her tracks.

“ _ROSEBUD_!!!”

 


	9. Chapter 9

Sierra was shaking from head to claw as her now useless wings made her drift gently down to the top of the dirt mound.  Her heart was racing almost as fast as her head was spinning, hardly able to comprehend what was happening. 

_No…_

_No!_

_Why is he here?!_

_He’s not supposed to be here!_

This didn’t make sense!  This was _impossible_!  She’d followed the Sugar Plum Fairy’s instructions _implicitly_!  He was _free_!  So, why on this earth would he ever-?

An icy stab of fear slid through her body and her trembling grew stronger.  She helplessly crouched low in the soil and started to cry in silence; too weighed down by her despair to flee.

“Sierra!”  Roland breathed in relief as he jogged towards her.  “Oh, thank goodness, I finally found ya!  I thought I’d never-!”

His sentence was cut off by a disturbing sight: Sierra tensed and threw her front legs up in defense.  The strange gesture stopped Roland in his tracks, and he stared at her in confusion.

“Sierra?  What are ya doin’?”

He cautiously took a step forward but paused when Sierra flinched away from him.  It was then that he heard her soft whimpers.  Worry and compassion flooded his system and he sank to his knees beside her, slowly reaching out a hand. 

“Hey…what’s wrong?”

No sooner had his fingers brushed the crest of her thorax than she drew further back, shivering and sobbing even more. 

“Baby, it’s me, Roland.”

The reassurance gave no peace, for Sierra only shook her head and continued to cower before the ex-soldier, not letting him come any nearer. 

And that’s when it hit him, with the awful, burning strength of a geyser…

She was _afraid_ of _him_.

The air rushed from Roland’s lungs and he gaped at her in shock.  His stomach churned at the image, let alone _thought_ , that the only reason he would pursue her into the Dark Forest, after everything that had transpired, would be to exact some sort of terrible revenge.

“Sierra…” he murmured, in a voice he barely recognized as his own, “I’m not gonna _hurt_ you.  I would _never_!”

He almost scolded her for daring to _think_ of such a horrible thing, but thankfully, he managed to hold his tongue.  Even _he_ wasn’t dumb enough to believe that would go over well, at the moment.

It seemed to take an eternity before gradually, her front legs came down from her head.  However, her demeanor remained the same; she refused to relax, speak, or even meet his eye.

Roland pursed his lips and gulped the rock-sized lump in his throat.  Well, at least she wasn’t running away, so if this was going to be the best opportunity he’d get, he _had_ to take it _now_.

“Please,” he began carefully, peeling off a single glove and extending the bare hand to her, “can’t we talk?  Jus’ fer a minute?  Please?”

He saw her twitch, glancing at his open palm, an invitation to converse in their preferred manner, but she did not touch it, nor make a sound.  Instead, she withdrew, like a frightened child in a corner.  The motion spread cold sweat across the back of Roland’s neck and his chest throbbed with growing pain as the silent seconds ticked by. 

Desperate, he stretched his hand closer.

“ _Please_ , rosebud.  Please _talk_ to me.  After that, i-if it’s really what ya want, I’ll…I’ll go an’ _stay_ gone, I swear, but please, hear me out first.  Okay?” 

She considered his offered hand a little longer this time, but still did not respond otherwise.  Chewing his lip, Roland drew a shuddering breath and begged in one last fragile whisper…

“ _Please_.”

Another unbearably long wait of hesitation, and then he felt as if a mountain had been removed from his shoulders when she tentatively slid one of her tarsi into his waiting hand. 

He gripped her firmly, but gently, so as not to scare her, and simultaneously combat the irrational fear that she might vanish into thin air without warning.  Words couldn’t describe how wonderful it was to touch her again; well, wonderful and torturous, because he wanted _much_ more than this.  How he longed to pull her into his arms and hold her against his chest as tightly as he could!

_No._

_Not yet._

But hopefully very soon, if he explained himself properly…

Unfortunately, he found that everything he’d been planning to say was now scrambled up in his head like a shaken jigsaw puzzle!        

Guess, for once in his life, he was just going to have to get right to the point.  No polished speeches or flowery tangents.  Just the raw, unrehearsed _truth_ … 

“Sierra, I’ve come to take ya home with me.”

Immediately, Sierra tried to pull free from his hold, but he held her fast.

“No!  No, _listen_ to me, darlin’,” he pleaded, “I know about everythin’ now: the love potion, how you broke it, an’ why ya left!  That’s why I’m _here_!”

The fly maiden ceased her struggling and met his earnest gaze.

“…Sierra, I _love_ you.”

Despite how she froze, Roland heard her soft gasp of surprise, but his dismay returned tenfold when instead of embracing him, she leaned away and nonverbally expressed her doubt.

“Don’t shake yer head at me, rosebud.  Ya _know_ it’s true!  It _has_ to be!  The Sugar Plum Fairy even said so!  Look at my _eyes_ , ya can see fer _yerself_!  _I’m_ tellin’ ya this all on my own!  No potions!  Just _me_!  I _love_ you!”

Sierra could hardly believe what she was hearing.  And it was the worst kind of hell.  Over the last few days, how many times had she been dreaming to hear those words from him?  Oh, yes, she’d heard them _plenty_ during their year together, but what meaning had they carried?  None.  Every sentence, every stroke, every consideration, they were all tainted, empty, _false_ ; mere symptoms of his being blinded by the crushed and enchanted remains of a primrose petal.

But this…

This was the _pure_ form she’d grown to long for, so much so that she’d released him and returned to her home, where he was forbidden to go.  They couldn’t have _been_ more permanently separated!  And yet, here he was, risking life imprisonment or even _death_ , all to tell her he wanted her back and that he _truly_ …

It was tearing her apart!  Agonizing joy thrashed inside her plump form, threating to break through to the surface at any moment.  She wanted nothing more than to embrace it; to simply bury herself in his arms and let him kiss her until the end of time. 

And it would be so _easy_!  So easy to give in; to surrender to him entirely.  She could be selfish without feeling the guilt because there were no longer any spells in play.  He loved her, he’d come for her; it was all she’d ever wanted and _more_ , right there, ready for the taking!

Except she wouldn’t take it; she _couldn’t_. 

His confession had only brought a whole new reality on its heels; a reality she didn’t think he was fully aware of.  So, she had to be sensible, not sentimental.

“…Rzz-zzer.”

“ _Yes_?”

How the hell did he do that?  How could one person saying a single, harmless word have such devastatingly innocent hope in their tone, that it immediately shot her plan to keep her head to pieces and reduce her to a babbling mess?

“…W-werzkertz-berzzgerz-zernzrtzerftzz-mzztzurzzdzuz-!”

“Woah, wait, wait!  S-slow down, rosebud!” Roland cut in, placing a hand on her back.  “I can’t understand ya when ya talk that fast.”

Perhaps against Sierra’s better judgement, she didn’t recoil from his touch again, but rather allowed herself to just barely lean into it.  He still had the power to comfort her as much as he did on that first day in the Fairy Kingdom dungeon. 

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she reattempted her message at a calmer pace, by scratching the words onto Roland’s palm for him to read aloud: 

“ _…We…can’t be……to-together…it’s not that…I……don’t l-love you…but……it just…won’t w-w-work now……surely…you can……understand…wh-why?_ ”

Roland frowned to mask his pain and uncertainty, but if there’s one thing he was to a fault, it was stubborn.  He wasn’t about to give up _that_ easily.

“No, actually, I _don’t_ understand.  If we love each other, what else matters?”

Sierra turned her head, avoiding his eyes as she reluctantly continued to write.

“ _…It’s……com-complicated_.”

She tugged her claw free, silently cursing herself for already missing the soothing warmth of his touch. 

“How?!”  Roland pressed, scooting closer.

“Rzz-zzer, _przz_ …”

 “ _Tell_ me!”   

“URZ ZERRZST ERZITZ _ERZ_!!!”

Her sudden outburst caught Roland off guard, and he almost fell off his knees, but damn being graceful!  With his still limited skill in her language, he’d only gotten half what she’d shouted. 

“Ah, s-sorry, ‘I almost…’?” 

Sierra sighed and returned her claw to his palm:

“ _…You almost…h-had it……all_ …… _lo-look at…her, Roland…_ ”

Puzzled, he glanced around and nearly jumped out of his skin when he noticed Bog and Marianne standing just inside the entrance of the stump, watching in wary silence.  The ex-soldier flushed, rather embarrassed at having _them_ of all creatures as an audience during such a personal and crucial exchange, but there was no time to deal with it, for Sierra had not finished:  

“ _…You two…were……en-engaged…you may not……have…loved her, but……never…the…_ oh, neverthe- _less…you had…the……p-princess…one of… if not the……most gorgeous…_ um, A-F-F-L _…a-affluent…and intelligent….females……alive…on your…a-arm……you were…less than……a day…aw-away……from being…the……Fairy King…and yet……you still………_ ”   

She trailed off then, claw sliding limply from his grasp again, and Roland felt that mountainous weight return to his shoulders and sink all the way down to the depths of his stomach.  It was his worst nightmare come true. 

The triplets were right. 

Of _course,_ she wasn’t going to give him another chance!  What self-respecting lady ever _could_ with how many ways he had royally screwed up?  With what a jackass he was?  It all made sense!  He’d spent so many years being such a pompous cad, never counting the cost; never thinking that maybe, just _maybe_ , it could all catch up to him one day and _he_ would be the one left behind with a broken heart.  Well, it seemed like now that day had finally come.

And he had no one to blame but himself.  And perhaps because he was a glutton for punishment, it wasn’t enough sorrow.  No, he needed to hear it from her, crystal clear.

“Sierra…” he breathed, tone as fragile as a leaf in the winter wind, “…fer pity’s sake, please be straight with me.  Before ya send me away, just……jus’ say it’s all because o’ _me_.  Because I’m selfish……an’ a coward…an’ a liar, an’ a cheat, and…an’ obnoxiously vain, an’ arrogant, and…pigheaded, an’ foolish, and…a-an’ every other horrible thing a person can be!  I know I don’t deserve _anybody_ , an’ I _especially_ don’t deserve _you_ , Sierra.  An’ it’s all my own fault, but I wanna hear ya say it…so I’ll never forget _why_ I lost you; you an’ everythin’ else.”

He braced himself for her dismissal, though he didn’t dare look away from her.  It might’ve been childish, but he’d keep his eyes on her until the last possible second; to make the most of what little time they had left…

But to his utter astonishment, what she said next, couldn’t have been more opposite to what he’d been expecting. 

“Wrz? _Nzt_ , Rzz-zzer!”

“Huh?  No?”

He almost hissed in discomfort as her claw urgently scribbled her explanation:

“ _…No…that’s no-not…what……I meant…I’m……t-trying to tell…you…that it’s…m-me_.”

Roland scanned her face, completely lost.

“Wh-?  What are ya talkin’ about, rosebud?  What do ya mean, it’s _you_?”

The tickle on his palm snagged his attention.

“… _I…mean……even if…you really……do feel that w-way…for me…I’ll……I’ll never be enough…you’re so…_ uh, A-M-B-I _…am-ambitious……you always want…more…and……I can’t…offer you…anything……I have no…crowns… kingdoms……or a-armies…I’m……nobody…I come……from a hive…where there’s li-literally…_ er, T-H-O-U-S _…thou-thousands of…others…just like…me…I’m nothing……special…I’m not…flashy……and even…by my…own culture’s……_ wait, S-T-A _…s-standards…I’m barely……pretty…while…your culture…finds……my kind…to be…_ ah, P-S-Y-C-H _…psychically…revolting……how could you……p-possibly…ever be……satisfied…with me…someone…so…boring…useless……and ugly_?”

Roland sat back in total bewilderment, barely able to process what she’d just told him.  Boring?  Useless?  And _ugly_?!  He’d never heard such utter hogwash!  She couldn’t seriously believe that, could she?!  Aw, to _hell_ with that!  He was _not_ leaving this spot until that disgustingly inaccurate impression of herself was purged from her mind forever! 

“Sierra, that…that just isn’t _true_!”  Roland declared, leaning in so she would look him dead in the eye.  “How can ya not know what ya do to me?  How worthwhile an’ unique ya are?  I was at yer hive earlier today.  I saw some o’ yer family, an’ I didn’t mistake a _single_ one o’ them fer you.  Listen, even if it was the potion fer _me_ , at the beginnin’, that didn’t change _you_.  Fer the first time in my life, I was finally able to pursue my passions, go back to my roots, an’ _you_ were right there, givin’ me all the support an’ encouragement I needed.  On every project I came up with, ya kept me realistic without castin’ me down, an’ ya were willin’ to do everythin’ ya could to help, no matter what.”

He took a moment to trail the fingers of his free hand across her cheek. 

“Don’t ya get it, darlin’?  Ya _balance_ me!  Ya keep me grounded, but motivated!  Ya inspire me, ya teach me, take care o’ me, count on me!  I-I couldn’t _hope_ fer a better partner!  _That’s_ become more valuable to me than any stupid crown.  An’ what’s _most_ important is that it’s _us_!  _Only_ us!  Our home; _we_ made it _together_!  Built it, grew it, it’s all _ours_!  We have our _own_ kingdom!  Do ya have any idea how _grateful_ I am to ya fer that?” 

Sierra fidgeted but did not answer.  Little did _he_ know how his words were affecting her insides. 

“This…might sound bad,” Roland continued, “but…I’m honestly _glad_ I was love dusted.”

His admission earned him a perplexed chirp and he grabbed her other claw to keep her near as he clarified:

“I think…I needed somethin’ to…keep me still long enough to…see things the right way…because none o’ that stuff means a damn thing to me without _you_.  Yer right, I _am_ ambitious, but whatever I wanna do, wherever I wanna go from this point on, I _want_ an’ _need_ ya there, right beside me.  Just _you_ , rosebud; _always_.  An’ as fer yer looks, let me tell ya somethin’…” he suddenly added, lowering his voice into a soft, throaty growl, “…if we were properly alone an’ ya didn’t object, I’d have ya right here on this dirt mound.”

He tried not to grin when Sierra squeaked with embarrassment and ducked her blushing head; he _was_ absolutely serious, but, as they say, time and a place…

“More than that, though, rosebud, I could die in the next second an’ be _ridiculously_ happy that _you_ were the last thing I saw.  I’ve changed, Sierra.  Nothin’ can ever compare to _you_ in _any_ way to me anymore.”

The quiet stretch that followed was thicker than mud to Sierra.  She was quivering all over from the weight of her emotions, and as she gazed into the clear, leaf green of his eyes, and found no trace of pink, she knew without an _ounce_ of doubt, that this was _real_.  She could hear it in his voice, read it in his body language, sense it all around him.  This was Roland.  _Her_ Roland, with his soul laid bare, all for _her_ and her _alone_. 

Yet, she could not move nor speak.  Even now, knowing how he saw her and cared for her, why did she hesitate?

Roland, noticing her uncertainty, felt his shoulders sag in encroaching misery.  Releasing her tarsi, he sighed the deepest sigh, as if it were his last breath, and made his final plea.

“There’s _no_ excuse for all the stupid things I’ve done.  All I can do is ask ya to accept me, when I know I don’t have the right.  Sierra, will ya be with me?  Even though _I’m_ the one that doesn’t have anythin’ to offer _you_?  Even though I’m an exiled criminal with a… _very_ poor history?  A pathetic, restless, self-absorbed……idiot?”

His heartbeat was a war drum in his ears and his body felt as if it was going to shatter like glass at the slightest provocation, but to his amazement, she actually crept an inch or two towards him.

“…Zzm zzkrz.”

.

.

.

“I am, too…but I’m more scared o’ bein’ _without_ you.”

The sting of tears hit his eyes then, and soon flowed freely when he saw her own sliding down her mauve face.

“ _Rzz-zzer_ …”  She sobbed and slammed into his chest. 

Roland practically cried out his elation and squeezed her back as tightly as his muscles were able.  Thank the Maker for her tough, chitinous form!  Or else, he might’ve cracked her like an eggshell.   

“Oh, Sierra!  Sierra, Sierra, _Sierra_!”

He pulled her between his legs, bowed over her, wrapped his large wings about her; anything to get as close to her as possible.  Eventually, they managed to clumsily capture each other’s mouths in a fierce kiss that left both thrilling and humming at the precious, tingling pleasure it brought them.  

“Zz zzfzz-urz.”

“I love ya, too!”

For a short while, that might’ve been a millennium for all they cared, they just stared at one another.  Smiling and chuckling through their ceaseless tears and gentle caresses.

“Zur hrzz rzzz _erzzr_.”  Sierra playfully noted, poking at a limp curl at Roland’s temple.

“Heh, heh…yeah, I know,” he shrugged, running a hand through the neglected mess, “I’m, uh…tryin’ not to think about it too much.”

Giggling, Sierra took up his hand and began writing again.

“ _…I…missed…you…_ ”

Roland pressed his lips to her forehead.

“I missed you, too, Sierra.  My sweet, _beautiful_ little rosebud.  Promise ya’ll never leave again?”

“ _…Only if……you never…give me……a…reason to_.”

Swallowing in determination and setting his jaw, Roland made his solid vow.

“I’ll do better than my best.”

Drawing her to him for another tender hug, he soothingly ran his hands over her exoskeleton and tiny wings, trying to memorize each and every mark, ridge, and scar she possessed. 

Eventually, he glanced over at the still silently observing Bog King and Queen.  Their expressions were a mix of disbelief, bemusement, relief, and…was it his imagination, or did Marianne seem at least somewhat…… _impressed_?

Roland frowned as sour guilt pooled in his gut and he knew he had to say something that was now _years_ overdue… 

“I’m _sorry_ , Marianne,” he croaked, “I’m truly, deeply…… _so_ , sorry.”

“…”

“…”

“…Me, too.”  Marianne replied at length before slipping her hand into the Bog King’s and giving Roland a pointed look.  “I’m sorry it _hurt_.  Not that it happened.”

Roland nodded in understanding, thankful for the closure; it was the closest thing to forgiveness he was ever going to get, but it was enough.  He shouldn’t have done what he did to her, or any of those girls in the past, that point was inarguable, yet it was a comfort to know that all of that was behind him for good, and that both he and Marianne now had what they wanted for the right reasons.  She’d found her happiness, and he’d found his. 

With a better feeling in his heart about what the future would bring, he held Sierra lovingly until she at last purred in her native tongue, a word he understood perfectly and once feared he would never hear her say again:

[“ _Home_.”]


	10. Chapter 10

There were some days when the Fairy Kingdom truly shined…

…but what are even the shiniest days compared to the strange, gentle, and ever _constant_ beauty of the night?

The deep, velvety blackness that coats the earth like an artist’s brushstroke; softening and spreading the shadows that were once jagged and confined under the harsh glare of the sun, occasionally accented by flickering streaks of gold from a campfire or torch, and of course, the misty beams of silver from the pale, watchful moon. 

And though it is true that there are many dangers that lurk in the darkness, such a thing of equal parts mysterious dread and ethereal tranquility draws inspiration from the heart of poets and storytellers alike.  Is it then any wonder that night is considered the time of lovers, who will cling to each other in either rapture or fright from its spellbinding atmosphere?      

This evening was no exception.

Each season brought their own various, special touches to the sunless hours; whether it was the summer’s playful lightning bugs, the winter’s glistening snow, or the spring’s enticing perfume, night was never bereft of its wonders.

Autumn had finally settled upon the Fairy Kingdom, still in its infancy, yet its signs were abundantly clear throughout the sleeping valley: 

The nip in the air carried the whispered promise of the snowstorms that would come in a few short months.  Dry leaves rustled in the breeze, as if making a last cry of defiance before their twigs would support them no longer; but thanks to this nightly chill, many of them would be proudly displaying their fiery hues, come the morn.  And finally, there was an ever so thin layer of frost coating the ground, which sparkled under the brilliant moon, peaking out from a sparse gathering of pale-rimmed clouds.  It was as if the sky had sprinkled a delicate layer of its precious stars over the land.

As for the lovers…

Across the lazy, winding stream, on the far end of Fairy Kingdom, teasing music drifted from a single window in a cozy cottage, aglow from a choir of candles.  Inside was a bedroom, and two occupants; they sat huddled together on Roland’s bed as he plucked a soft, doleful tune on his guitar.  Sierra, sitting in a nest of blankets beside him, rested her head on his arm in absolute bliss as he sang:

 _Living without you~_  
_Living alone~_  
_This empty house seems so cold~_  
_Wanting to hold you~_  
_Wanting you near~_  
_How much I wanted you home~_  
  
_But now that you've come back~_  
_Turned night into day~_  
_I need you to stay~_  
  
_So now I come to you~_  
_With open arms~_  
_Nothing to hide~_  
_Believe what I say~_  
_So here I am~_  
_With open arms~_  
_Hoping you'll see~_  
_What your love means to me~_  
_Open arms~_

When the song drew to a close, Roland turned to nuzzle his cheek against Sierra’s face, in response to her deep, contented sigh.  After a moment, he felt her nudge his palm.

“… _You’re not…gonna……T-O-R…torture me…about that……for the rest…of my life…are you_?”

Grinning, Roland met her eyes with a casual toss of his once again glossy, golden, and perfectly curled hair.

“Aw, o'  _course_ not, honeycomb.  …Maybe jus’ _half_ the rest o’ yer life!”

“Rzz-zzer!”

Smacking him playfully with her claws, earned her an equally mischievous growl as he wrestled her into submission beneath him.  It was a long moment before their laughter finally calmed, though their silence lacked not one whit of joy.

“I love you.”

“Zz zzfzz- _urz_.”

Their words were sealed with a kiss that was so much more than a mere kiss; it was a declaration of their souls’ entwining, their futures in tandem, and perhaps, a sign of even more progress for their respective kinds.  Was there any home in the kingdom’s history that had housed such pure hope and happiness?  Truly, this was a night that could last forever.  Yet, the hour was late, and the couple was exhausted in both body and spirit from the events of the day, so it was time for sleep.      

As Roland busied himself with the task of extinguishing the various candles and properly stowing away his instrument, Sierra remained where she was, waiting for him.  Though she was still not ready to take their physical relationship any further just yet, neither of them wanted so much as a wall to separate them tonight.

Hunkering down into the blankets to conceal her blush when Roland at last removed his shirt and climbed into the bed beside her, she twisted her antennae to keep from releasing a tiny squeal of glee as he curled into a ball around her, wrapping his strong arms over her carapace. 

“G’night, rosebud.”

"Nzzer."

How could it get any better than this?

.

.

.

Apparently, not until the soothing, fuzzy texture of his wing draped over her body.  Sierra had never felt so warm, so protected, so _loved_.  Needless to say, she had every intention of falling asleep this way every night, for the rest of her life. 

* * *

 _You fill up my senses~_  
_Like a night in a forest~_  
_Like the mountains in springtime~_  
_Like a walk in the rain~_  
_Like a storm in the desert~_  
_Like a sleepy blue ocean~_  
_You fill up my senses~_  
_Come fill me again~_

Roland’s strong voice rang through the crisp autumn air with all the enthusiasm and power of a gale, bouncing off every rock and tree as if the god of nature himself was serenading the blushing insect sitting behind him, astride the bright orange and black feathered body of their oriole steed currently flying them to the south.

After Sierra’s return, and seeing firsthand how Roland had genuinely changed, Queen Marianne had, begrudgingly, recommended to her father that a few terms of Roland’s banishment be lightened.  The first of which was that his friends could come visit without being penalized.  Second, that he could go the market whenever it was convenient instead of assigned.  And finally, that he be allowed to rejoin his fairy brethren on their winter migration. 

Last year, he had been expressly forbidden to leave the valley, so there was no other choice than for him to remain confined to the cottage.  It had been simply _awful_!  Roland suffered from a miserable cold for the entirety of the season, despite being constantly wrapped head to toe in wool and sleeping on a cot beside the perpetually burning hearth in the den.  

Though the pair much preferred traveling via their gentle squirrel, Chipper had to stay behind to hibernate, as was his nature, but thankfully, the pain of separation from their beloved pet was softened by Roland’s immense eagerness to migrate again _and_ bring his dear love along to show her the _enchanting_ southlands!  And clearly, his joy was evident in his song…      

 _Come let me love you~_  
_Let me give my life to you~_  
_Let me drown in your laughter~_  
_Let me die in your arms~_  
_Let me lay down beside you~_  
_Let me always be with you~_  
_Come let me love you~_  
_Come love me again~_

As he finished, Sierra clapped her claws in praise.

[ _“That was beautiful, Roland!  Did you write that yourself?”_ ]

There was rarely a need to scratch her words into his palm anymore.  Roland had spent a decent amount of time during the last month furiously learning more of her language with thrice as much diligence as before.  However, he still liked to hold her claw in his hand when they talked, ‘ _jus’ because_ ’, and if he didn’t need both hands on the oriole’s reins, she had no doubt that’s what he’d be doing right now.

“Nah.  If I had, it’d be called ‘Sierra’s Song’, instead of ‘Annie’s Song’.  No, it was written by one of my old captains back when I was a private; he wrote it for his wife after she gave birth to their first child.”

[ _“Aw, how sweet!”_ ]

“Ya think so?  Hmm…ya know what?  _I_ oughta write _you_ a song.”

[ _“Oh, Roland, you don’t have to do that!”_ ]

“I _want_ to!  Come to think of it, I’ve actually never written one before.  It’ll be _fun_!”

Sierra indulgently shook her head and stared at their rushing shadow below as she reflected on the past few weeks…

Everything had been just wonderful!  So much more then she could’ve ever _dreamed_!  To the casual observer, one might not have even noticed the difference, but _she_ certainly knew better.  Roland was just as doting and affectionate as before, yet he had his more reserved moments, when he wanted to be alone to work, read, do his hair, tend to Chipper, etc.  It was a relief to not have him practically attached to her abdomen day in and day out anymore, but she was even more pleased that there was no decrease of his serenading; turned out, he sang because he was _happy_ , not because he was bewitched.

His personality was a lot more prominent as well.  He loved to lightheartedly tease her, and go on and on about himself, but in a slightly mocking way, enough to make her laugh and poke fun in return from time to time.  He would fuss and pout with more zest when he didn’t get his way, which was honestly _rare_ , but it never went further than she could handle.  And last, but in no way _least_ , his ambitiousness had unleashed a veritable _tidal_ wave of plans ranging from sending some of her artwork to be showcased at the Fairy Kingdom’s royal gallery, to building an expansion onto their cottage for their future children; a subject Sierra had yet to rationally discuss with him. 

Ha, like she’d even be _able_ to without stammering and flushing like a halfwit!  

Although it was quite obvious that with such vastly different biologies, they’d have to seriously consider adoption, they still had yet to…go all the way.  Oh, they were definitely much closer in that department than they’d ever been (she never knew her cheeks were so sensitive, or was it just him?), and it wasn’t as if she didn’t _want_ to take things further, far from it!  She just……wanted to wait until the time was unquestionably right.  It was slow going, but she was gradually getting used to the reality of all this and was learning to trust it completely.   

Regardless, she had more important things to concern herself with, at present.  Such as _whom_ Roland was intending to introduce her to once they reached their destination.

“Rzz-zzer?”

“Yes, sweet thang?”

[ _“Are you sure about this?”_ ]

“Of course, I am!  I’m always sure; ya know that.”  He replied, cheerfully.

[ _“…What if he doesn’t like me?”_ ]

“Then to hell with him.”

[ _“But, Roland-!”_ ]

“He’s the only family I got left, an’ he raised me, so he has a right to at least _know_ about us, but if he don’t like it, then that’s _his_ problem.  I don’t _need_ him anymore, I jus’ want _you_.”

“Rzz-zzer…”

She trailed off, first touched by his desire for her to meet his famed, retired uncle Roderick, and now even _more_ so by his already set devotion to her.  It shouldn’t have been a surprise.  She, herself, cared nothing for her hive’s current, degrading opinion of Roland and their relationship.  Nonetheless, it was humbling to be so treasured.

“Besides,” Roland continued, “we’ll be havin’ too much fun to care one way or the other, anyhow.  Man, I can’t _wait_ to show ya the southlands, rosebud!  Ya won’t _believe_ how beautiful it is!”

Sierra nervously twisted her claws but let the subject of their families drop in favor of further discussing these southlands she’d recently been hearing so much about.

[ _“I still think you’re pulling my leg about some of it.  How can a body of water be as big as the sky?”_ ]

Roland tossed his head back with a boisterous laugh, making his golden locks dance.

“I know how it sounds, but trust me, you’ll see it all fer yourself!  The ocean, the white sand, the palm trees, the flowers!  Oh, and the _fruits_!  Coconuts, bananas, mangos, pineapples, oranges, kiwis!  We make the most _delicious_ drinks from ‘em!  I tell ya, there’s nothin’ like sittin’ on the beach, sippin’ a lava flow or a killer bee, an’ watchin’ the sun as it vanishes over the water.  You’ll never see a prettier sky!  At least, not until the stars come out.”

Nodding vaguely, since she didn’t understand half of what he was talking about, she decided to cover her ignorance by being cheeky.  Giving his back a light nudge with one of her elbows, she joked: 

[ _“Sounds like you’re just hoping to ply me with drinks and take advantage of me!”_ ]

“Sierra, I am _shocked_!”  Roland gasped in pretend offense.  “I was hopin’ _you_ would take advantage o’ _me_!”

She replied to his tease with a delightful squeak of indignation and swatted his shoulder, much to his amusement.

“But seriously, rosebud, there’s bonfires an’ barbecues an’ dances; we can go swimmin’, build sandcastles, collect seashells an’- _oh_!  I am gonna find ya the _biggest_ damn pearl in the southlands!”

[“ _The biggest…what?”_ ]

“Pearl.  It’s a beautiful, shiny, white gem; as big as yer head, an’ as round as a soap bubble!”

[ _“What on earth am I going to do with something like that?”_ ]

“The same that ya do with me; admire it.”

[ _“I think you’re a bit more useful than a pretty rock.”_ ]

“Ya flatter me, darlin’, but won’t ya let me spoil ya, please?”

Sierra just sighed.  She would never understand his obsession with giving her things, but if it made him happy, then _she_ was happy to allow it.

[ _“If you insist.”_ ]

He went on then, describing all the things they would see and do together in the southlands this winter, and she only really half-listened, occasionally humming in agreement or asking for a definition to the odd word she was unfamiliar with.  They had quite a long journey ahead, Roland had mentioned that they wouldn’t arrive until well past midnight and that she'd likely fall asleep beforehand, but she didn’t particularly mind; the scenery alone was an endless source of enjoyment.  The wide-open sky over the rolls of lush fields, the vast patches of forest with their transforming leaves, the glimmering rivers that snaked through it all. 

Yet, claws down, her favorite had to be the mountains.  She had never been so close to them in her life and was utterly enthralled by their majestic size and splendor!

[ _“They’re so beautiful!”_ ]

“That, they are…we should climb ‘em, someday.”

[ _“…Really?”_ ]

“Sure!  Why not?  Ya know, I remember the first time I saw one: I thought it was the most amazing thing in the world.”

[ _“Maybe next year we can-”_ ]

“Until _you_ came along.”

Sierra hid her blooming face in Roland’s wings, shyly peeking one eye out to watch a mated pair of doves pass them overhead.  She wondered, would she ever get used to this…? 

* * *

 _Lady, I'm your knight in shining armor and I love you~_  
_You have made me what I am, and I am yours~_  
_My love, there's so many ways I want to say "I love you"~_  
_Let me hold you in my arms forever more~_

One could say her answer came a few days later, when they were sitting together in the sand against the base of a coconut tree, a good distance from the partying fairies and their bonfires, breathing in the sweet ocean air beneath a seemingly endless canvas of stars as Roland languidly strummed his guitar and crooned the song he had promised to her.

 _You have gone and made me such a fool~_  
_I'm so lost in your love~_  
_And oh, we belong together~_  
_Won't you believe in my song?~_

There wasn’t a doubt in Sierra’s mind of his sincerity.  The quiet, tender, almost forlorn notes were proof enough on their own.  No showmanship, no extravagances, just the raw and precious truth.  And whenever she was brave enough to briefly meet his eyes, her heart would stutter at both his earnest, pleading expression and how the moon was reflected by his green orbs, as if showing her his soul washed clean within.

 _Lady, for so many years I thought I'd never find you~_  
_You have come into my life and made me whole~_  
_Forever, let me wake to see you each and every morning~_  
_Let me hear you whisper softly in my ear~_

Over and over, Sierra wiped away her silent, joyful tears in vain.  Was she dreaming?  How was it possible to be this _happy_?  To be _this_ in love?  Was this what _life_ was all about?  What made the world go on turning?

 _In my eyes, I see no one else but you~_  
_There's no other love like our love~_  
_And yes, oh yes, I'll always want you near me~_  
_I've waited for you for so long~_

Because, if so, she was glad to surrender all remaining inhibitions and throw herself into forever by his side.

 _Lady, your love's the only love I need~_  
_And beside me is where I want you to be~_  
_'Cause, my love, there's somethin' I want you to know~_  
_You're the love of my life, you're my lady~_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Is it decent so far?


End file.
